


A Few Repairs

by BabyCharmander



Series: The Redemption Line [2]
Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyCharmander/pseuds/BabyCharmander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She would put him through some repairs, until he was at least somewhat functional again. Just a few repairs—and then maybe she would see if there was something in that mangled casing that was worth forgiving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are again. It's always such a pleasure.
> 
> Another one from FFN. This is the second fic in this series, but since the first fic can be... rather violent and uncomfortable to read, I wrote this one in such a way that people who haven't read the first fic can still understand this one. So if you want to read a story about recovery and repairs (in more ways than one), read on.
> 
> All characters are in their original form; you'll find no humanizations or androids here.

She stared into the fire, trying to forget that he was sitting behind her. She'd been trying to forget about him since the moment she stepped out of the wheat field and realized that, yes, she really had brought him with her. Part of her still wanted to go back, pry the shed door open, and throw him back in, but she couldn't. She'd been walking all day, and his weight had slowed her down. She'd be lucky if she made it back home by tomorrow night.

Chell drew her legs in and rested her head on her knees.

What was she doing?

She wasn't even really sure if he was repentant or not. There was no way for her to tell when he hadn't spoken a word—the only thing she'd heard from him was the whirring and creaking of mechanics and the occasional spark.

But one thing she knew: he was fully aware of the fact that he deserved the worst she could throw at him. If she ever made a move to bring harm to him, he would usually just close his optic and go completely still, accepting whatever punishment she wanted to dish out. She'd put her foot on him in preparation to kick him or stomp him, held him over a puddle, and even pointed her gun at his optic, but never followed through any of those, tempting as they were.

He'd panicked once, his optic shrinking and his body squirming when she'd debated throwing him against a large rock, but he eventually went back to going limp. Sometimes he would start shivering in her grip, and other times he would give her a glare, only to glance away guiltily when she noticed it. His emotions were a mess, probably from whatever damage he'd sustained—and she had no idea what to do with him.

It probably didn't help that he had no idea what to do with himself, either.

Wheatley's vision flickered, blurred, and refocused on the forest he was staring into. He was facing away from _her_ , understandably. He knew she probably would've liked it if he would never look at her again. She seemed to have a pretty solid opinion of him, if her silent threats were anything to go by. He just wished he had a pretty solid opinion of _her._

On one hand, she was taking him away from that place. After who-knows-how-many-days of endless torture, he was finally free. He was out of GLaDOS's reach. And thus far, the lady hadn't physically hurt him—not intentionally.

On the other hand, she hated him—and she'd betrayed him. She'd come back to Aperture, risking everything, stealing a portal gun, and had demanded him back. He'd thought she'd come for him, but after he nearly broke himself getting their escape elevator to work… she left without him, leaving him down there in GLaDOS's claws, and completely destroying his last shred of hope.

He _knew_ he deserved it, but it still hurt. It _hurt_ to have his only friend completely betray him like that, and he couldn't forgive her for it—especially not with the way she was acting now.

But… she was still taking him away from that place. But then she had threatened to hurt him repeatedly—but she'd never actually gone through with it—but she didn't even want to _look_ at him now—but she hadn't actually done any real harm to him—but—

Wheatley forced himself away from the thoughts; they were making his processor hurt. It would be better if he just didn't think about it at all. It wouldn't matter _what_ she did to him. Whatever she wanted to do to him, she would do, and he would have absolutely no control over it. He had no working speech processor to argue with her and no means of running away, so he would just have to accept whatever happened.

He shut his optic. He was exhausted, but with his sleep mode still disabled, he could do nothing but maybe wait for himself to crash. But more often, his processor would default to something else—either plunging into numbness or hallucinating. He never even got a warning when the latter would start to happen, and when it did, his shattered mind didn't recognize it. He couldn't discern hallucinations from reality anymore, and he didn't have the strength to try.

_When he opened his optic, he could see that the world was dark, as it had been, but he was seeing catwalks and distant machinery, not a forest of rotten leaves and skeletal trees. Maybe those hadn't even been there in the first place, and he was just… dreaming? But robots didn't dream. Maybe he'd been corrupted, somehow. That was a worrying thought, but he'd gotten out of corruption before._

_He was in a place he'd seen before: conveyor belts, robot parts, distant cries of turrets denying their defectiveness… Yes, this was the turret redemption line, wasn't it?_

_Wheatley had never liked this place. None of the robots did—it was like watching a line of corpses that were about to be cremated. He was pretty sure he wasn't working here at the moment, and quickly decided to leave._

_He turned on his management rail—briefly thankful he still had that—and began to make his way out of the place, but stopped. Thick potato plants snaked up the wall and around the rail, rendering it impossible for him to leave, at least that way. Heaving a sigh, he turned to leave another way. It was a little unsettling as he moved closer to the conveyor belts, giving him a closer view of the scrap remains of the turrets beneath him. He wanted to move past that quickly, but just as he reached a spot over one of the belts, something made him freeze._

"The redemption line isn't just for turrets, you know. _"_

_There was a sudden pressure at his sides, and with a shower of sparks he was forcibly ripped from his management rail. Turning his optic up, he could see the claw that was slowly lowering him down to the conveyor belt and forcing its pinchers deep into his sides—_

Chell whipped around, scrambling back as she stared at the core that was flailing around erratically, his flickering optic expanding and contracting at seemingly random. Her immediate response was to look around him, wondering if something had hit him or if a spark from the fire had gotten into his casing, but it didn't seem to be anything like that. Perhaps his processor was glitching?

Whatever it was, he needed to snap out of it. She rose, walking over to his side, and nudged his casing with the toe of her boot. The core seemed badly startled by the sudden contact, several sparks shooting out from the broken wires within him, but his optic blinked a few times and refocused on her face.

Wheatley stared at her for a moment before his expression went nearly blank, and he glanced away.

She continued staring into his optic, but when he didn't look back at her, her gaze drifted to the core's various injuries. Now that she wasn't sitting between him and the campfire, she could see the light from the flames bouncing off the uneven surfaces in his casing—all the nasty-looking dents and cracks, places in his sides where it seemed like he'd been held in too tight a grip by a set of claws, a few round holes around his face, scars across his metal eyelids and face, and frayed wires poking from his sides and even from two points where his lower handle had once been attached. When she stooped down a bit closer, she noticed an unusual scar on his right side—it seemed to go diagonally across the panel, just under his handle, and it had the appearance of being welded back together.

Chell found herself reaching out to feel one of the scars, but as soon as her fingers touched the metal, Wheatley twitched, and she pulled her hand away to avoid the shower of sparks. She hesitated for a moment before reaching out again, tracing the welded scar that ran across his side.

His optic turned to face her, but he did not object—he had that same blank look, like he didn't care about what she was doing, whether she chose to hurt him or not.

She pulled her hand away, and sat back as the realization struck her: there was no point in trying to hurt him. What was there to be gained, when he hardly seemed to care anymore?

Though she couldn't help but feel him deserving of whatever it was he'd gone through—possibly a rough trip from space, a couple encounters with turrets, or maybe even revenge from GLaDOS herself. Whatever it was, it had left him an utter wreck—and part of herself, she was unashamed to admit, was glad to see it. He had done so many terrible things and backstabbed her so badly, how could she _not_ at least feel a little better at seeing him like this?

…But then there was that other part of her, the one that looked down at the robot and saw his mangled body and all the pain he was in, and felt bad for him. It was a small part, but it nagged at her.

_You used to trust him._

She wasn't sure why she had. He was from Aperture, and when had any other AI from that godforsaken place been trustworthy?

_He helped you before._

And then he backstabbed her.

_You don't know he's not sorry._

No, she didn't, but even if he _was_ sorry, that wouldn't mean she would actually forgive him. What had he done to deserve her forgiveness?

_What_ can _he do to show he deserves forgiveness, in the state he's in?_

The thought made her pause, and she stared at the robot again. He was thoroughly mangled and wrecked, and the most he could do was wiggle around a little and flail his dented handle. She wasn't even sure if he was capable of speech anymore. In a state like that, it would be completely impossible for him to prove anything to her.

Chell gave a quiet laugh. _That's_ what she could do with him. She would put him through some repairs, until he was at least somewhat functional again. Just a few repairs—and then maybe she would see if there was something in that mangled casing that was worth forgiving.

Rising, she walked over to a small bucket of water sitting nearby, and used it to douse the flames of the campfire. The night was dark, but she could see well enough to find the cheap sleeping bag she'd rolled out earlier. She lay atop it, glancing over at the dull blue nightlight that sat a few feet off.

Wheatley's optic rolled around frantically, searching for the lady in the darkness. His flashlight had been disabled around the same time his sleep mode had, so all he could do was strain to see with the light from his own optic. Eventually a bit of the blue light reflected off of her form, and he tried to relax. Maybe she would stop poking at his scars now and go to sleep… while he wished he could do the same.

His optic turned upward, staring at the heavens. There were stars scattered across the dark blue sky, and the moon was full. It was a reminder of where he could have been, had GLaDOS not brought him back into the facility.

Sometimes he wished he'd stayed in space.

* * *

The sun rose the next morning over Michigan's Upper Peninsula, finding the lady and the robot already on the move. Chell had woken up before sunrise and begun packing, shoving her camping supplies into her backpack and retrieving a few snacks she'd packed for a quick breakfast. She'd then grabbed Wheatley, snapping him out of the daze he'd been in, and immediately began heading south.

The morning was much cooler than it had been yesterday, and the wind was harsh, making travel harder. She buttoned her jacket to fight against the chill and fought to walk against the wind, but it was hard to keep a steady pace, and the hunk of metal she carried wasn't helping much.

At least Wheatley was calmer when she held him by his handle. It was hard carrying him like that when he only had one, but her only other option was carrying him in her arms, and the one time she'd tried that had not ended well. His broken casing had been incredibly uncomfortable to hold, and a few seconds later he'd begun to panic, squirming in her arms until she dropped him, nearly hitting her feet. So she'd begrudgingly hoisted him up again, switching the arm she carried him with every so often, and occasionally gripping the handle with both hands. It was tiring work, but if she wanted to get home on time, she would have to push herself.

Not that she wasn't used to doing that.

Wheatley, on the other hand, was not used to anything like this. He wasn't used to seeing these strange plants all around, nor was he used to seeing all these different kinds of animals, from things like the varied birds—ones that weren't solid black like the ones he'd known—to the enormous quadrupeds that appeared to occasionally grow trees out of their heads. While most of them seemed to stay away from the lady, that didn't make it any less worrisome. Before, the only animals he had known had all attacked him, so how did he know one of these animals wouldn't do the same?

Then there was the wind. He'd felt wind before, but now he was feeling it blowing through all the cracks and holes in his casing. His pain had never faded, and though he tried to ignore it, the wind's forcing itself through his casing brought his attention back to his injuries. The dirt that got into his casing every time the lady set him down didn't help much, either.

And when he wasn't sitting in the midst of dirt and rotten leaves, he was being carried by one handle. That couldn't be helped, when he only _had_ one handle, but he'd originally been built with two handles for a reason. He wasn't meant to be carried by only one, and though the lady's grip on it brought an artificial comfort, he could feel the damaged metal joints straining against his own weight. Fortunately it never gave, but that didn't stop it from hurting.

Finally, there was the lady herself. He felt as uncertain about her now as he had the day before, even though she didn't seem to be threatening to hurt him as much, aside from dropping him earlier. She was as silent as she'd been since the day he'd met her, and never once did she seem to smile… though he wasn't sure he could bear to see her smile at him again, given the _last_ time she'd done that.

Throughout the whole journey, all he could do was force himself to bear it—the fear of the unfamiliar outside world, the pain throughout his frame, and the uncertainty he felt around the lady. Whenever it got to be too much, his processor would either conjure up memories and hallucinations or else just go numb entirely. But whichever it chose to do, it would bring him out of his pain and fear for just a while, and that was good enough for him.

The day wore on, the sunlight fading behind a grim cloud cover. It was typical of autumn, but it made the journey no easier. The air was cold, Wheatley was heavy, and her arms and back were killing her, but Chell never let it show. Aperture had trained her that, no matter how sore or tired or scared you were, you never showed weakness. Not in front of _her,_ and you never knew just when one of her cameras would show up. You never gave up, either—and she wouldn't. She had to get home by tonight.

The metal ball she carried slowed her down, so she made it a point to take as few breaks as possible. Frequently she was tempted to just leave the core sitting in a pile of dead leaves, but the idea of something from Aperture falling into the wrong hands was not a pleasant one. No, Wheatley would stay with her so she could keep an eye on him.

Her legs ached with every step, and occasionally she would cast a glare down at the core, feeling a little envious that he didn't have to be the one walking. But then she would catch a glimpse of his cracked optic, which would either be blank or glitching, and would be gladshe wasn't a malfunctioning AI trapped in a mangled hunk of metal.

As the light began to fade, she found herself envisioning her shower with its hot water, and her bed, looking warm and comfortable. The thought of taking a shower and finally lying in bed kept her going, despite how sore and cold and exhausted she felt. It was a relief to finally begin seeing familiar landmarks, like the old apple orchard and the farmhouse, still recognizable even in the dark. She was almost home.

By the time Chell finally reached her house, she felt the last of her energy begin to ebb away. Her hands shook as she unlocked the door, and she stumbled into the little one-floor house, automatically shrugging her backpack off of her shoulders—and forgetting that she was still carrying Wheatley in one hand. The strap caught against the core, yanking him out of her hand and to the floor.

The robot started out of the daze he'd been in, internal components creaking as his optic frantically looked around. Fortunately the floor was carpeted, so the impact hadn't been too bad, but it was apparently enough to frighten him.

Chell sighed, kicking the door shut behind her and stooping down to pick up the core again. She had no desire to put her things away or find some suitable place to set him at the moment—she just wanted to take a quick shower and get to sleep. Glancing around, her eyes fell on the dining room table, and she dragged herself there and set the robot down with a _clunk._

She ignored whatever silent protests he may have been making and gratefully made her way to her room, and to the personal bathroom that was attached.

Wheatley blinked, optic swiveling as much as it could in his mangled casing as he tried to discern just where he was. He'd been lost in his memories for a while, thinking back to the time when he had to watch over the humans in cryosleep, when the backpack strap had suddenly snagged against his casing and sent him tumbling to the floor. And how he was sitting… _somewhere_ in this unknown building.

He looked around for the lady in vain. The light from his optic did light up a bit of the room, but not nearly enough to determine how big the place was, or _where_ he was. The most he could see was the surface he sat on, and a bit of the closest wall, which was white. …And, it occurred to him, a lot of the walls in Aperture were white, too.

A sudden, paralyzing fear seized him—while he'd been out of it, had she turned around and gone _back_? He didn't know how long he'd been hallucinating or numb or unconscious or whatever had happened, so it wasn't entirely out of the question. If she had brought him back, though… well, she hated him anyway, so should that really come as a surprise to him?

…No, but it didn't make it hurt any less.

He looked around the room again, trying to discern the shapes in the darkness, but his eyesight wasn't good enough—not with that cracked lens. Though maybe there really wasn't anything to see. Maybe he'd been put in an empty room, like that one time—

His processor yanked away from the memory so quickly that it nearly stunned him—like a person pulling their hand away from a hot surface. _Those_ memories were far too painful to think back to, and his mind seemed to be unconsciously building a wall around them, making them harder and harder to remember. Sometimes there would be a crack in the wall that he could slip through, but usually he'd be yanked away before he could dwell on them too long. Usually.

Shutting his optic, Wheatley tried to focus on something else. If he _was_ back in Aperture, where could he be? He couldn't see much of anything, so that didn't help, but maybe he could hear something that would help him figure it out?

Focusing on keeping still and straining his aural sensors, he picked up the sound of… running water? Where would there be running water in the facility? Unless _she_ was purposely flooding the room—that wasn't something she'd tried yet. Flooding the room… that would be the end of him, wouldn't it? And… well, it'd be the end of his pain, at least.

But even then, the thought of dying was terrifying. Back when GLaDOS had just left him out on the surface, the idea of death seemed so far away and almost _welcome_. But now that he was closer to death again, his fear returned—that fear his programmers had planted into him when he was first made.

Wheatley opened his optic, its pupil contracting into a pinprick as he strained to see in the darkness again. But the light didn't reach far enough, and his cracked optic couldn't see well enough to tell just where the water would be coming from. He stayed like that for a few terrified minutes, waiting to be drowned and shorted out in the flood, but the light from his optic never bounced off any water, and eventually the sound stopped.

At the very least, it was a relief to know he wouldn't be drowned… but then, what _was_ GLaDOS or the lady planning to do to him now? There was nothing hooked up to him, so that ruled out at least some of the things. But it didn't rule out…!

He tilted back as much as his damaged casing would allow, and looked up—

_The floor dropped beneath him, sending him falling at a speed that rivaled that of the remote claws, and a mechanical roar surrounded him as the many-fanged spike plate chased him downward. Occasionally his optic would catch a glimpse of some of the rows of spikes—spikes long enough to ram through one side of his body and come out the other._

_The fact that they might miss his main processor and_ not _kill him made it all the more terrifying._

_He struggled to get away, knowing that it was useless to start with, but he had to do_ something _. He rocked his spherical body as much as he could, flailing his handle, but the spike plate was getting closer, and—_

* * *

_CLUNK._

If the sudden noise of a heavy metal object coming in contact with the floor wasn't enough to wake Chell up after she'd just fallen asleep, the rattling and squeaking and clanking noises that followed definitely were.

Immediately she jumped out of bed, heart racing as she wondered just who had decided to break into her house—and _why_ they had decided to break into a dumpy one-floor place when there were much nicer houses elsewhere. She edged closer to her bedroom door, listening to the sounds and trying to pinpoint where they were coming from. It took a few seconds for her to realize that they were coming from her dining room, and it was only when she opened her door and saw the very faint blue light looking around wildly that she remembered.

_Him._

Of course, after she'd done the favor of dragging him away from _that_ place, he would repay her by waking her up at some ungodly hour in the morning.

Her adrenaline rush quickly draining, she heaved a sigh, walking over to the dining room where the core was lying on the floor. He was squirming around wildly, flailing his handle, and his optic seemed to dilate and contract in a glitchy, frantic way. On top of that, she swore she could pick up a faint whisper of static coming from him.

Chell rubbed her eyes, stooping down and staring at the malfunctioning robot. She didn't have time for this—she had to get _some_ amount of sleep to be able to function at work in the morning. Whatever was wrong with him would have to wait until after work tomorrow, though she at least had to get him to calm down.

She tried reaching for his handle, but jerked away when it banged against his casing. She wasn't sure how strong that handle was, and didn't want to find out just how much damage it could do to her fingers. Heaving a frustrated sigh, she grabbed either side of his casing and lifted him off the floor.

Too late, she remembered what had happened the _last_ time she'd tried that, and he completely panicked, writhing around in her hands and causing her to drop him. Darn it, she just wanted him to calm down so she could go to bed—

"Hey, settle—it's all right, it's—"

The words were quiet and more harsh than comforting, but the effect was immediate. Wheatley froze, and his dull optic focused on her with an expression of utter shock.

She'd never spoken in Aperture. From the very beginning, even though she had no idea where she was or what she was doing there, she had refused to talk to what she had once thought was an automated voice. Finding out what it really was only made her more determined—she would never, ever give GLaDOS the satisfaction of hearing her voice.

Even after defeating her, she couldn't fully remember what had happened—everything after she'd thrown the last core into the incinerator was a blur. But she knew that if GLaDOS _was_ still around, she was listening, so she'd never spoken, not even to Wheatley. And it stayed that way, all throughout Aperture, until the day she finally stepped foot on the surface.

She'd never wanted something from _that_ place to hear her speak, but in her exhaustion and frustration, she'd completely blown it.

Chell fought the urge to add some rather unsavory words to what she'd just said.

But at least the core was calm now, or as calm as he was going to get. She grabbed him by the handle, hoisting him into the air and setting him back on the table.

They stared at each other for a moment, Chell still inwardly cursing herself for letting that slip. It would _not_ happen again. Instead she motioned to the core, lifting her finger to her lips— _be quiet—_ and turned to drag herself back to her room.

Wheatley's optic never left her, and continued to stare in her direction long after the door had closed.


	2. Words

_He managed to wriggle free from the claw's grasp, not sure how he'd managed to get back onto his management rail but not wanting to question it, either. He watched the claw grab around blindly for half a second before he rushed down some other path on the rail. The one he'd chosen went upward, leading him away from the conveyor belts and up toward the walls._

" _Are you still there?"_

_Wheatley froze, twitching when he saw the red beam of light pointing directly at him. The turret was sitting in a small gap in the wall and staring him in the optic. "No, no, nononono—!" he cried, backing away frantically. Apparently his voice was back—though maybe it had never gone at all. He was too scared to give it much thought right now._

" _I'm different."_

_The beam flickered a few times, and his terrified look was soon replaced with an annoyed one. "Oh, it's_ you _," he grumbled, glancing away. He'd seen her throughout Aperture a number of times, and she was always trying to get his attention or the attention of some other robot. "Thanks, I'm good, not interested and all that…" He turned to leave, but was surprised to find that the rails had changed. There was one rail—the one he was on—and it split into two paths. Each went over a redemption line conveyor belt and through the wall beyond. The claw that had tried to crush him was nowhere in sight. "What…?!"_

" _There are three places afterward," whispered the voice behind him._

_He whirled around, staring at the turret. His rail went up closer to the turret, ending just to the side of her, but he didn't feel any particular desire to move any nearer to the thing. "Wh-what the bloody heck are you talking about? Three places after_ what _?"_

" _Three places," the turret whispered, completely ignoring his question. Her gaze—and, by extension, the red beam from her optic—turned, focusing on the fork in the management rail. "Two of them seem much the same, but there is a difference."_

" _Really?" Wheatley followed the turret's gaze, and looked from one rail to the other. "Looks the same to me. And there's only two rails, not three. You sure—uh—you sure you can count all right?"_

" _The first is eternal, the second temporal," the turret explained, her beam searching between the two paths. "The second must be crossed in order to reach the third."_

" _Well, great. And I'm stuck going to one of them, aren't I?" He took a moment to examine the rails and confirmed that, yes, he had to choose one path or the other._

" _You have avoided the first." And immediately the two rails severed with a tremendous metallic_ SCREECH _, making it impossible to choose one of them._

" _AAAGH!" Wheatley cried, backing up on the rail until he hit the end of it, swinging back and nearly bumping into the wall. "Wh—how did you do that? A-and d'you think you can change the rails again, so I could get back to work? I'm pretty sure they need me somewhere—don't want to be fired from another job, and all…" He turned around to face the turret, pulling his lower eye shield up in a hopeful grin._

_The flickering red beam shone directly into his optic. "How long it takes to get through is largely up to you, but also to the kindness of another."_

_His optic shrank to a pinprick from the intense brightness of the light. "Er—"_

" _That's all I can say."_

_The beam turned slightly to the side as the turret looked directly forward, going into sleep mode._

"… _Well, that was bloody helpful," Wheatley muttered, blinking as his optic readjusted to the change in light. He turned around to examine the rails. "Three paths afterward, cross one to get to the third… Yeah, that makes a whole bloody lot of sense." Heaving a sigh, he moved forward on the rail, following it as it went over the conveyor belt and into the space in the wall. Strange, though, it seemed a lot brighter than he remembered it…_

With a nasty twitch that made his whole frame spark and shudder, Wheatley found himself out of the facility, in the midst of unfamiliar surroundings, and in a lot of pain. His initial response was to cry out, but his damaged vocal processor remained silent, and slowly he recollected what had happened to him over the past few days—GLaDOS dumping him out onto the surface, the lady finding him and taking him somewhere, and…

He blinked, suddenly noticing the lady that was rushing around, grabbing things here and there and hardly glancing at him. His optic followed her as she shoved a few things into a small bag, scrambled to get a pair of shoes on, and rushed back into the kitchen area, snatching a round object— _apple_ , he remembered the word—from a bowl sitting on the counter. She then rushed toward the door, taking a bite of the apple and swallowing it as she walked, but stopped.

The lady turned around, finally looking at him. For a brief moment she opened her mouth as though she wanted to speak, but seemed to change her mind at the last second. Instead, she strode up to the table, pointed at him, then tapped her finger against the table's wooden surface: _stay there._

With that, she spun back around, rushing out the door and slamming it behind her.

Wheatley stared after her, blinking dully a few times. _Stay there._ As though he had the ability to move from that spot.

But then, he had fallen off the table last night… or had he? He couldn't really remember—everything had been blurring together. Had he been hallucinating then, or was he hallucinating now? It was too difficult to think about things like that, and it didn't really matter, anyway… except…

"— _It's all right—"_

Had _that_ been real?

Though his thoughts were still fuzzy, he could remember _that_ voice with perfect clarity. He'd never really thought about it before—what _her_ voice actually sounded like. He'd wondered what she would say if she ever _did_ talk to him, but he'd never actually imagined what she would sound like. That was what made him wonder if it actually was real, and not a hallucination.

…But then, if she really could talk, why wasn't she talking to him now?

If she really could talk, why hadn't she talked to him— _ever_?

" _You're in this together, aren't you? You've been playing me the whole time, both of you—"_

No, _no_ , that hadn't happened—that had _not_ happened—his corruption and confused emotions had made him paranoid back then. He was sure now that the lady hadn't been friends with GLaDOS from the beginning, but… why hadn't she talked to him? Had she not liked him from the start? Not trusted him? Maybe that would explain why she'd let go, when he was being pulled into space… and why she'd betrayed him.

His whole frame shook in a shudder. That memory was harder to suppress than the others, as he was constantly being reminded of it, what with the lady being around all the time now. While the event had not been physically painful, in a way it hurt him more deeply than anything else he'd gone through. Every time he thought that maybe he had some hope left, he would remember what she'd done to him.

But then, what she'd said to him last night…

"— _It's all right—"_

How could everything be all right with how broken his entire body—his entire processor—was? The only ways he could think of things getting better would be if she forgave him—which he doubted she would ever do—or if… if he were to just shut down. If he had no chance of recovery, what else was there to do?

The numbness began to creep into him again, chasing out the anxiety. He couldn't exactly call it a relief, but it was better than the depression, at least. He would have to accept the fact that yes, the lady had betrayed him, and no, she would not forgive him. He was not going to get better. He was not going to get away from her. He was not going to make it through the redemption line, to wherever it was supposed to lead him.

Wheatley shut his optic, heaving a mute sigh. It was so strange to think that however long ago—a few days, maybe, almost a week, maybe longer?—he'd actually had some hope to hang onto. Even after he'd broken his vocal processor, he'd still found some hold... and now he was like this.

All that waiting and hoping for nothing.

He didn't dwell on it, but let the numbness settle on him for a while. It was easier than reflecting on the mess he was in.

It was some time before he opened his optic again, wondering if he was in that house, or if that had all been a hallucination. But no, he was still there, sitting on the same wooden table. If this was where he really was, then at least he could examine his surroundings in more detail.

Focusing through his cracked lens, he saw a few copies of a tiny kitchen area. He knew what it was, since he'd seen ones like it around the offices in Aperture. It just had a small countertop, a sink, an oven, a microwave, and a few cabinets around, with a refrigerator against the wall to the right of all that. There looked to be some dishes sitting in the sink, as well as a bowl full of fruits sitting on the countertop, but there was really nothing else of note there.

There was a door to the right of the kitchen area, but it was shut, giving no indication as to where it led. So, working to turn his optic, he glanced to the left, noting another door, also shut. That one, he thought, was the one the lady had come out of last night. Had she been sleeping in the room beyond, or did that lead deeper into the building? How big was this place, anyway?

He glanced around again, but unless he wanted to try flipping his optic around or attempt to move his body, he really couldn't see much else from where he sat. Unless there was something on the wall or ceiling…

Glancing up, he gave a start at seeing something hanging above. For a split second he wondered if there was a spike plate above him, but no, it was… a lamp. A lamp that was currently off. But if the lamp was off, then how was this place lit?

He turned to the wall to see if there was, for some reason, a lamp hanging off of that, but instead found a window. Outside, he could see a few tall plants, much like the ones he'd seen in the forest, but through his broken lens and the dirty glass, he couldn't see much more. But the light appeared to be coming from the other side of the window, shining high above the plants. It was a bright yellow light… one that… reminded him…

Something moved on the other side of the window, and his optic's aperture contracted to a pinprick right before he snapped his eye shields shut. He twitched a few times, shuddering uncontrollably; he was almost certain he'd seen… _her_.

After a moment, he risked opening his eye shields just a little, but saw nothing out the window—nothing but the plants, a bright blue sky, and the sun shining down through the window.

It was the sun. Not an optic. He'd only imagined it. She couldn't be out there. She was far, far underground, hanging in her chamber, still in Aperture. And this wasn't Aperture. …Was it?

He opened his optic all the way, glancing around again. There was little here that reminded him of anything he'd seen in Aperture—well, aside from the kitchen, but even that didn't look exactly like the ones he'd seen before. And then the sun, but… that was the sun, not an optic. He would have to remind himself, in case his processor decided to glitch up again, making him see things that weren't there.

Well… now he had a better idea of his surroundings, at the very least. But what else was there to do?

He remembered ages ago, long before he'd ever met the lady, he would get lonely and bored at times. When the other cores and robots weren't good company or simply weren't around, he would fill the time by talking to himself or going into sleep mode. But now he couldn't even do that, with his vocal processor broken and his sleep mode deactivated. He also remembered exploring the vast depths of Aperture, but he couldn't do that without a management rail. …He couldn't do much without one, really.

Maybe he could try to see what else was in the house around him, but to do that, he would have to try to move himself, and that typically hurt… a lot. Then again, he was already in a lot of pain anyway, so what would it matter?

Wheatley drew himself into his casing, as much as his broken innards would allow, and tried jerking to the side to turn his body. The end result wound up being a spasm of pain, a ton of sparks, and his body only moving very slightly to the left. Normally that would be enough to make him not want to try something again, but if he wasn't going to get fixed, he should get used to trying to move like that, shouldn't he?

Shutting his optic, he prepared himself for the pain, and tried turning again. Even with his eye shields shut, he saw a few colors flare up as his optic glitched, but he managed to scoot himself a little more to the left that time. Opening his optic, he saw what appeared to be a bulky monitor sitting in the corner—what for, he wasn't quite sure. And a little more to the left, he could see an entirely different sort of wall that jutted out from the rest of the wall. It was made out of rectangular objects, each a different, dull shade of red or pink or orange. Bricks, that was it. But… why would that part of the wall be different like that? Was it like the panels back in Aperture?

He decided to risk turning a bit more to see what else he could find, and shut his optic. If his vocal processor was working, he might have simulated a noise like drawing in breath, but as it was, he took a moment to prepare for the pain again before he jerked himself to the side—

Something inside him caught on a dented part of his casing, causing him spark and give a silent yelp. He remembered this happening before, but that was when— _no, don't think about that, don't think about it_. Opening his optic, but keeping his eye shields slightly narrowed, he concentrated, trying to get himself un-stuck from his mangled casing. The thought occurred to him that he might break some other part of his insides, so at first he tried to work slowly. But this got him nowhere; he couldn't budge.

He narrowed his optic until it was nearly shut, and tried to yank himself free as hard as he could. This technique worked, but at a price: it sent a spark of pain surging through him—but then, what movement didn't anymore—and caused him to wobble enough to tip him onto his side. Part of him now hung over the edge of the table, but not enough to make him fall… though if he tried moving again, he probably would.

Wheatley stared at the now-sideways room for a moment before shutting his optic. Why was he even trying anymore?

* * *

The cold wind kicked up rotten leaves, sending them blowing past Chell as she walked home from work. Her head was tipped up toward the sky as she stared at the moon, already out so early. With the approach of winter, the night came earlier. Soon she would be walking home in the dark. It wasn't too bad, but she would have to start taking a flashlight with her.

" _Oh for—they told me, if I ever turned this flashlight on, I would_ die _!"_

She stopped in her tracks.

_He_ was waiting for her at home.

Darn it.

With the busyness of work, she'd completely forgotten about the spherical robot she'd dragged home last night. After such a long day, she would have to come home to put up with him rather than actually relaxing. It was her own fault for bringing him home, but that didn't make it any less unpleasant.

Maybe she could ignore him, just for tonight, but who knew if he would wind up spazzing out on the floor and waking her up at some unholy hour again. She should probably fix some part of him, if only so he knew she wasn't going to torment him or throw him out or anything—not yet, anyway.

Heaving a sigh, she continued trudging back home, shoving her hands into her pockets to keep them warm. With this cold coming on, it might be nice to start using the fireplace again.

Upon entering her house, Chell flipped on the light switch to find Wheatley tipped onto his side on the table. He wobbled a little, and she heard the metallic _plink, plink_ as he blinked a few times. She remembered how he would flip his optic around to see something behind him, and briefly wondered if he was too broken to do that now.

Setting down her bag, she approached Wheatley from behind, grabbing his handle and immediately jerking back as a few sparks flew out of his casing. Once those stopped, she grabbed him again, and in one quick movement, set him upright.

She noticed his surprised expression out of the corner of her eye, but ignored it, instead walking into the kitchen area. Opening one of the cabinets, she snatched a pack of ramen noodles, and got to work preparing it—she was too tired to make anything better. Besides, even five years later, she was still more than happy to eat something other than potatoes.

Chell avoided looking at Wheatley as she watched her food cook in the microwave. She didn't want to think about him right now, though she knew she would have to deal with him eventually. Rather than eating her meal next to him at the table, she brought it into the living room, sitting on the couch where he couldn't see her and eating slowly.

After allowing herself to rest for just a few more minutes after she'd eaten, she returned to the kitchen and placed her bowl in the sink. She stared at the dirty dishes for a moment before finally turning, looking Wheatley in the optic.

His eye met hers for only a second before he looked away.

Chell sighed. Well, might as well get this over with. She strode up to him, crouching down to examine the various dents and scratches in his casing and the frayed wires poking out of his sides. Where was she even supposed to start?

She stood up straight, looking around toward the back of his casing, then at the sides, when an idea struck her. Immediately she walked away from the table, heading into the room to the left of the front door.

Wheatley hadn't been paying too much attention to what she was doing, but he did blink in confusion when she walked away. He wasn't sure what she was up to, but he couldn't say he liked it. What was she planning? Was she just going to leave again, or was she actually going to do something? It shouldn't have mattered, but he couldn't help the slight fear building within him.

He heard her moving around in some room behind him, but he couldn't turn to see. It sounded like various objects clunking around, but eventually those noises stopped and gave way to the sound of the lady's footsteps. His processor managed to conjure up several ideas—none of them pleasant—of what she'd grabbed from that room, and soon he was shuddering in fear. He could hear her footsteps come closer and closer, but he still couldn't see her, closer and closer—

_Click_.

He lurched in his casing, tipping to his right side as several sparks flew out of his body. But that didn't matter—he curled his dented handle around himself and shut his optic as tightly as he could, preparing for the electricity to surge through him…

…but it never did. He opened his eye shields in confusion, but his optic almost immediately contracted into a pinprick at the bright light shining down at him.

A flashlight.

Chell rolled her eyes at his reaction. What had he expected her to do, _attack_ him with something?

A nagging feeling at the back of her mind told her that, yes, he probably did. Frowning, she took a seat and moved the flashlight again, holding it over the hole in his side. What she saw made her pause.

In a few of the more well-lit areas of the facility, like the earlier test chambers he'd led her through, she had caught a glimpse of his insides through the circular holes on either side of him. She recalled seeing the poles that would twist and turn and even telescope out when he moved his optic forward. While she wasn't exactly an expert with robots, she remembered being surprised at how few wires she had seen. But now, there were wires everywhere, many of them frayed, and some of the poles were either cracked completely, or else looking like they'd been very poorly repaired.

She was amazed he could even move.

But she wasn't going to try bothering with all that just yet; there was something else she wanted to find. Tilting the flashlight toward the back, she saw the platform that all of his poles were connected to. And, attached to that, she found what she was looking for.

Wheatley's optic was slowly adjusting to the light behind it, gradually opening its aperture. He tried to turn to look at her, but when he did, she quickly placed her hand on his side. He flinched, disliking the feeling, but watched as she stared him in the optic and pressed her hand against him more firmly: _don't move._

...Why? What was she going to do?

Chell wasn't sure if he'd stopped moving out of obedience or fear, but either way was fine for her, so long as he actually did keep still. Holding the flashlight in one hand, she picked up a screwdriver with another, slowly reaching it into his casing. She knew his insides might be sensitive, and tried to move the tool carefully. Despite her best efforts, she accidentally hit it against one of the broken poles.

She barely yanked her hand out in time for Wheatley to start writhing, optic glitching and handle flailing in a wild panic. Inside, the poles squirmed and twisted and sparked, and she shuddered to imagine what would have happened if her hand had gotten trapped in that. She pressed her hand firmly against his hull again, causing him to spark, but stop. His optic stopped glitching, and she stared into it, giving him a serious look: _Don't. Move._

Once again, he obeyed, but she wasn't sure how well she could trust him. She reached in again with her screw driver, this time preparing to yank it out if he went berserk again. Experimentally, she tapped the end of the screwdriver against another one of the poles.

He flinched and shuddered, but didn't panic this time, though he did stare blankly ahead with a look of sheer terror.

Still, she didn't want to tell him what she was doing; she hated the thought of his hearing her voice again. He would figure out what she was doing soon enough, anyway. Reaching the screwdriver in farther, she finally reached one of the screws that kept a specific part of him attached to the platform. Narrowing her eyes in concentration, she got to work.

All the while, she could feel Wheatley shivering uncontrollably, but he did not squirm. She might have considered gripping his handle to keep him steady, but she needed her other hand to hold the flashlight so she could see what she was doing.

There was a light _plink_ as the first screw fell, dropping through the other hole in his side and onto the table. She carefully undid each screw until the fourth one fell, and something within the sphere came loose.

Nodding in satisfaction, Chell turned off the flashlight, set it down, and turned Wheatley upright. She could hardly see his optic now, the tiny pale-blue dot almost invisible in the blackness. He was still shivering and his face seemed to be giving a slight jerk occasionally, but it wasn't enough to risk hurting her hand. She quickly reached inside, grabbing the thing she'd knocked loose and pulling it out.

Wheatley shut his optic, curling his handle over his body.

The device was still attached to something inside him by a few wires. It was black, and it appeared to have a number of holes in it—one of which looking like it shouldn't have been there. A few more screws kept the little case shut, but before she went to opening that, she turned her attention to the wires, feeling around them.

She could feel his shivers intensify at the touch, but ignored them. She hadn't found what she was looking for there, anyway, so she began unscrewing the little case. Once that was open, she found what she had expected: frayed wires. Well, she knew what to do, now.

Chell went back into her storage room, digging through one of the cabinets. It took a minute or so, but she eventually found the soldering tools she was looking for and brought them out to the table. Wheatley's optic was open again, but once she was in his view, he took one look at the things she was carrying and snapped his eye shields shut. He was still shivering, but it wasn't going to get in her way, since the piece she was working on was currently outside of his casing. She plugged in the soldering iron and prepared the broken wires, twisting the frayed ends together. As soon as the iron was heated and the tip was tinned, she began on the first wire.

Wheatley's eye shields flew open. His optic was still sharply contracted, but now looking even more unfocused, and even glitching a few times. Again, the thought crossed her mind to give his handle a squeeze to let him know she wasn't going to hurt him, but she needed both hands to do this.

Once the first wire was done, she was only slightly surprised to hear soft static coming from the device—hopefully that was a sign she was doing this right, but there were still a couple more wires to do. She continued her work, carefully applying the solder and heat-shrink to the next wire, and then to the last one—

As soon as it was soldered, Chell jumped back, nearly dropping the soldering iron in shock as a blood-curdling _scream_ burst from the device.

She placed the iron back in its holder and unplugged it, then leaned against the wall and took a few deep breaths to calm herself back down. Inwardly she berated herself, wondering why she hadn't expected that to happen as soon as she repaired the broken wires in his vocal processor. When the horrid noise didn't stop, she pressed her hands over the speaker, muffling it.

She didn't uncover the speaker until she heard Wheatley's screams give way to shaky, simulated gasps—ones that gave her the distinct impression that he had been sobbing earlier.

A small part of her felt bad about that, but she shook it off, instead getting to work putting the screws back into the speaker. Meanwhile, the core's optic went back into focus, and tried to watch her. He was still panting and occasionally drawing in a shuddering, simulated gasp, but he did not speak otherwise.

As Chell turned on her flashlight again so she could put the device back in his casing, she finally heard him.

"…Y-you…"

She looked into his optic.

"You… f-fixed my voice…" It was still that same accent she'd remembered, but his speech was slow and thick, like one who was just starting to talk again after ages of silence. The sound was familiar in more ways than one.

Chell frowned, going back to screwing the vocal processor in, but occasionally glancing back at his optic. He didn't speak up again until she was finally putting in the last screw.

"…Why?"

She paused for a moment before pulling the screwdriver away and looking him in the optic. She absolutely did not want to answer the question verbally, but even if she did, she had no idea how she would word it. "I'm trying to repair you to see if you're not a totally worthless, unforgivable wretch?" Fighting a sigh, she simply gave him a look: _why do you think?_

Wheatley seemed to realize he wasn't going to get a verbal answer. After a moment, he jerkily turned his face away, but turned his optic toward her, and she gave a slight flinch at the grinding sounds emanating from his innards at the movement. "…I-I don't know." His voice was quieter and even shakier than before.

Chell stood, crossing her arms as she continued to stare him in the optic; she would not look away until he gave her the response she expected, and, really, deserved. After all, she'd taken this time that she could have spent relaxing after work to work on him and give him his voice back. He probably expected her to hurt him, so she didn't want to hear an apology, since it would probably be out of fear rather than any real sincerity. But she did want to hear _one_ thing.

A shudder ran through his frame, and his optic contracted a fraction as he stared at her. He didn't seem to comprehend at all what she expected, and his next word only confirmed it: "Wh-what?"

She stared at him in disbelief before whipping around to retrieve her tools. She gathered them into her hands and arms, careful to not burn herself on the still-warm iron, and had to fight the temptation to hit Wheatley over his dented hull with the flashlight as she stormed past him and back into the storage room.

As she placed her tools back in their appropriate places—essentially, in any drawer or cabinet where there happened to be space—her mind rushed in fury. Why, why, _why_ had she brought him back? Why had he _come_ back? What good had she expected to come out of the stupid sphere that had backstabbed her right after she'd helped him, and ultimately tried to _kill_ her?

Chell walked out of small room in quick strides and headed for her bedroom, but turned to face Wheatley again. But just as before, he was _still_ baffled, giving her a look that seemed to be a combination of terror and utter confusion. She heaved a sigh; she'd already blown it, and apparently there was no other way to get it through his thick casing.

"You're welcome."

Wheatley continued to stare, blinking and shuddering.

She gave him a look of utter disbelief, and turned to open the door, just as his optic finally brightened a fraction.

" _Oh_!"

She reached out, flipping the light switch, and stepped into the room.

"Th-thank—"

_SLAM._

"…y-you…"

As she stood with her back to the door, Chell felt her rage begin to drain, and found herself slumping a little. A thought occurred to her: Not only had Wheatley probably been expecting nothing but more pain, he had also been designed with the express purpose of being an idiot.

The memories crept up on her—people staring, whispering when they thought she couldn't hear, wondering why this strange girl was _so_ jumpy, _so_ quiet, _so_ untrusting of every person and even every _machine_ she came across. People expecting her to act like a normal person, not knowing a thing about what she'd gone through.

She shut her eyes. _He's different_ , she told herself. _Don't give him leeway because of who he reminds you of._

Slowly she became aware of the noises from the room behind her: a mechanical clattering, and a stuttering, shaky voice, whispering a confused mix of apologies and thanks.

Chell stood there for a moment before heading into the bathroom, turning on the shower and drowning out the noise.

* * *

He clawed uselessly at the air with a leg that wasn't even built to move in the first place. His partner—or rather, co-victim—had given up some time ago, or else died. He wasn't sure which, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He was lying on his side, pupil expanding and contracting as desperate cries emitted from his broken vocal processor in the form of chirps and squeaks.

Normally they would help each other, as they'd learned to do eventually, ramming into another's side when they had fallen. But it had been days now, and no-one had helped him up. He knew there had been at least one—or two, sharing a body—left, but he hadn't heard from them in some time.

" _Are you still there_?" he clicked in their improvised language.

Much to his shock, he felt himself being lifted off of the ground and heard a succession of excited warbles. His cubic body spun, and he found himself face-to-face with another single optic, this one a bright blue. He pulled his leg in and curled into his shell, optic dilating in fear.

The blue-eyed robot, however, pulled the lower lid of his optic up in a grin, and turned to smack his hand into the hand of another robot, this one with an orange optic. This robot gave a higher-pitched warble, and turned to run in another direction. Her partner followed.

Cautiously he pulled his head out of his shell, glancing around as best as he could. Just before they left the room, he caught a glimpse of another box, its heads limp, optics dead.

* * *

The robots carried him out of the room and through a series of ancient chambers, setting him down occasionally to create portals. Several times they squabbled over who would get to carry him next, at one point knocking each other's heads out of their frames, but eventually they made it to a long hallway. He couldn't see what was at the end of it, since he was still turned to face the robots, but he didn't need to see when he heard _that_ voice.

" _Oh. Another one?_ "

The blue robot held him up and warbled triumphantly, only to be smacked in the head by the orange robot, who snatched him away and held him up as well, giving an excited squeak.

" _I told you to bring me any items of interest you might find, not_ pieces of trash."

He gave a series of terrified chirps, but silenced himself when he felt a powerful grip at either side of him. Slowly he was drawn away from the two robots, and turned to face _her._

GLaDOS stared at the box with her unblinking yellow optic, the light casting a threatening glow on the little abomination. " _I suppose I must remind you: These are not remotely interesting. They are pieces of trash that were created by another piece of trash, which made specifically to be_ _a piece of trash. Stop bringing them to me._ "

The robots stared up at her before simultaneously drooping in an exaggerated manner, shaking their heads and warbling sadly.

The massive AI turned her attention back to the abomination in her claw, which appeared to be shivering in fear. She had been doing her weekly rounds, halting her tests in order to cycle through the security cameras to make sure everything was in order, but now she would have to deal with this wreck of metal and robotics.

The "frankenturrets," as some of the other robots had called them, consisted of two turrets forced into the side of a weighted storage cube. While she had succeeded in destroying most of them, there were a few that would crawl out of their hiding spaces around the facility. Blue and Orange had unfortunately developed a fascination for the things, and were always delighted to bring them to her when she sent them to find schematics and blueprints.

Annoyed that, once again, they had interrupted her to bring her another piece of junk instead of something actually helpful, she prepared to toss the thing into the incinerator when a thought struck her. There was one camera that she did not typically check very often, but the frankenturret had reminded her of another piece of junk she'd dumped outside the facility. It wouldn't hurt to spend a microsecond to check on it, she thought smugly.

Allowing her chassis to hang limp, GLaDOS activated the hidden camera mounted on a little shed on the surface, and looked through it.

The camera showed an excellent view of the patch of dirt that surrounded the shed.

" _ **What.**_ "

Rewinding the camera's footage, she found that nothing had happened that day, or the day before. But three days ago, the remains of a little test she'd run had been lying on the ground outside the shed. She watched the footage, attempting to glare despite the fact that she was using the camera's eye and not her own.

A human stepped into the view of the camera, nudged the dented piece of metal a few times, and ultimately carried it away.

The sound of shrieking pulled her attention back to the central chamber.

Blue and Orange were staring at her, their optics wide in shock. Off to the side, her claw held a very mangled weighted storage cube, while the remains of two turrets sparked on the floor beneath her.

Well, that was one problem solved.

Time to solve another.


	3. Visions

"Th-thank you… I-I'm sorry I didn't r-realize that's what you wanted! Th-thanks… my p-p-processor's so scrambled, s-still trying to g-get used to using th-the ol' voice a-again—" _Twitch_. "A-ah, s-so, thanks, er, a-again, if you're listening, if—if you can hear me. And—and if you can, then please t-t-tell me next time y-you're going to do something like that b-because th-that really hurts…"

Wheatley was only half-paying attention to what he was saying. On one hand, his emotions were so scrambled between fear and gratefulness and resentfulness and who-knows-what-else that he could hardly figure out what he was supposed to say. On the other hand, it was so, so wonderful beyond belief to hear his own voice again that part of him didn't even care what he was saying, so long as he kept talking. Whenever he'd been lonely back in the facility, he would talk to himself, and it was a great comfort to finally be able to do that again.

And at the moment, he needed all the comfort he could get.

He was still alone and afraid, trapped in this strange building, with no management rail to get about, and a risk of falling if he tried to move too much. And, of course, he was still in pain, though at least his vocal processor wasn't hurting anymore.

"D-don't know wh-what you th-thought you were doing b-back there, though..." He twitched again. "Is—is that what… what do you call them, doctors? Wh-what doctors usually do? Dig right in, not telling you what the bloody heck they're doing, w-working on you while you're wide awake?" A shudder ran down his frame; the whole thing had hurt a lot more than the lady had probably even realized, but how could he have told her? It wasn't like he could have said, "Hey, that hurts, please don't touch that," or "Could you at least tell me what you're doing?" He hadn't been able to communicate a thing to her, not even when she'd triggered that… that memory, when that bird—

_KSSSHHK_

His optic flickered and went dim, and his body froze up completely. It was a few moments before he jerked his handle and blinked, eye looking around frantically.

"Wh-whuh… what happened?" he stammered to himself, twitching and sparking. "M-my processor just… n-nearly crashed, there… froze right up. G-guess it doesn't want me th-thinking back… back to whatever happened." He very quickly ceased all attempts at trying to recall the memory, worried that he might actually crash. Not a pleasant thing, but it would render him, in human terms, unconscious. The only way he could do that otherwise would be to use sleep mode.

Oh, _sleep mode_. That would've been a nice thing to have right about now, sleeping through the dark hours. Or maybe a flashlight, so the hours when the sun was off wouldn't be quite so… well, dark.

"S-suppose I should be grateful f-for—for what I do have, though. L-like… like my voice." Wheatley bobbed his face up and down in an approximation of a nod. "G-good to have that back, but… why'd _she_ want it back?"

The lady, of course, was still angry at him. She'd been so mad, apparently for not thanking her for repairing him. But the thought hadn't even occurred to him after that; why would he want to thank her, when he wasn't even sure why she'd repaired him in the first place? Her actions were so mixed and vague, how did he know she wasn't doing that for some sinister purpose, like… like hearing him scream the next time she hurt him?

…Not like he didn't _deserve_ to be hurt.

Wheatley shut his eye shields, shuddering. "N-no offense, lady, but I-I don't really th-think I can trust you when I c-can't really tell if you're c-coming or going, y-you know? E-especially after… after what you did—" Despite his repaired vocal processor, his voice cracked a little at the end of his statement. "W-wish you would just—just tell me what you wanted."

The nasty memory nearly replayed itself when another horrifying thought jumped in front of it: he'd just told her what to do, hadn't he?

"Oh!" he cried, eye shields flying open. "No, no, th-that was all j-just a suggestion! Th-that's… I-I was just _suggesting_ it! J-just worded it a little wrong is all please don't hurt me…!"

He curled his handle around his body again, shivering, optic darting around as he waited to feel the electricity claw through him. But slowly he remembered that it was GLaDOS that had told him not to tell her what to do, not the lady, and he relaxed, just a little. Though he couldn't be sure the lady would like it much better…

He shut his optic tightly again, wishing he could just have some form of certainty, even if it was a certainty that he would be hurt again. Maybe things wouldn't hurt so much if he was expecting them.

_When Wheatley opened his optic, he jerked back and cried out in horror—he was back in the facility, but in a completely unfamiliar area. An intense heat surrounded him, and while his casing had been built to withstand extreme temperatures, it was still uncomfortable. He glanced around to try to discern where he was, but it was too dark for him to see much around him other than vague outlines of machinery._

_When he looked below, however, he could see a conveyor belt scattered with turret parts—and, he was horrified to note, what even appeared to be parts of other cores._

" _GAAAAH! What the bloody heck am I doing here?!" he cried, whipping around on his management rail and speeding forward as quickly as he could. There was a limit on the rails throughout the facility, indicating the safest speeds the cores could travel on them, but he was surpassing the limit on this particular rail, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible._

_Just when he felt he was making some progress in getting out of this place, he was met with a loud_ BANG _followed by an explosion of pain and bright colors flashing in his optic. Dazed from the impact, he ran a self-diagnostic, and found he'd acquired a nasty dent in the front of his hull._

_Once he'd regained his senses, Wheatley fished around for the appropriate program before flipping on his flashlight, relieved to find it was actually working now. But that relief very quickly fled at the sight before him: his management rail went straight into a door, which was shut tight._

" _N-no, no, that shouldn't be there… M-maybe I can hack it?" Frantically he opened a connection as he thought of some password to use. "What was the password I used before? Uh… A-B-C-D-G…H?"_

NNNNT!

" _Um, uh, maybe this time it's A-A-A-A-A-A?"_

NNNNT!

" _A-A-A-A-A…B?"_

NNNNT!

" _Oh, come on!" He turned away from the door with a growl of frustration, glaring down at the conveyor belt beneath him. However, his frustration quickly turned to confusion when he saw a familiar, flickering red beam of light beneath him. "Hey, that's…"_

" _Hello," the turret whispered, turning her gaze upward. But as she was traveling on the conveyor belt, she was gradually moving away from him._

_Wheatley glanced anxiously at the door behind him before deciding he could always try going back to hack it later. Giving a simulated gulp, he went forward on the rail, following the turret. "Wh-what're you doing on here? You're not dead! And… well, neither am I, really… wh-which is why we have to get out of here! There's a door, back there, and I was just trying to hack it, but—"_

" _You cannot turn back."_

" _What? What do you mean?" He turned around, looking back toward where the door was, and prepared to move forward to demonstrate. "Of course I can turn ba—"_

_His attempt was met with a nasty shuddering and grinding noise; the rail refused to let him move._

"… _Oh. Oh, no. No, no!" Optic contracting into a pinprick, he fought even harder to move back toward the door, but could not budge. "No, that's not fair—!"_

_He turned back to see the turret still focused on him, and reluctantly moved toward her. Strange, why was the rail only letting him move one direction? "L-look, something's wrong with the rail, or something, so we have to find some other way around."_

" _You must move forward."_

" _You're… you're joking, right?" He turned his optic and flashlight upward, but could see no end to this line in sight. Which… was a little odd, since he was certain it was a short trip from the redemption line to one of the incinerators. But he knew he was getting closer, as it kept getting hotter the further along the rail he went. "I don't understand…"_

" _You will eventually come to the end."_

" _Yeah… the incinerator," Wheatley mumbled, glancing off into the darkness so he wouldn't have to stare at the robot parts or the path ahead. "That's a great thing to look forward to…" He twitched at the uncomfortable heat, which was getting to the point where it would have meant bad news for a human._

" _That's all I can say."_

_He heaved a sigh, shutting off his flashlight and closing his optic as he moved forward on the rail. There really wasn't much else to do, was there? "Not much better than the other stuff… if the other stuff actually happened. Or was that my processor messing with me again?"_

_It made him dizzy trying to figure it out. Which one was his real fate—an eternity in the incinerator, or an eternity stuck with a lady that hated him? …But, given those two options, it didn't really matter in the long run, did it?_

* * *

_He was in the chassis again. Enormous cables connected him to the ceiling and to the rest of the facility beyond that, filling him with more power than he could ever know what to do with. He was elated—unsurprising, going from being a helpless little core with no power to being a massive robot with near-unlimited power—and proceeded to gloat about it._

_She stared at him, and shook her head. No, they didn't have time for this—they needed to get out of here. After all, GLaDOS could very well have something else up her sleeve, even after being reduced to a decapitated head. She pointed upward once, twice, looking from him to the ceiling and back._

" _What's that—oooh, the escape lift? Right, right, I remember." He turned to the side, appearing to contemplate where he should call the lift from. "Though… why should we leave?"_

_Her stomach felt like it had turned to ice, but she did not let it show. Instead she shook her head, giving him a firm look and pointing back up to the ceiling. This was_ not _going to happen again._

" _Oh, there's really no reason for us to go to the surface now, luv," he said, flaring out his panels and tilting his face toward her, giving her what she assumed was supposed to be a smug grin. "We've got everything we need, now, and no crazy AI to worry about."_

_She was about to shake her head again when the sound crunching metal and electric sparks caught her attention. Whipping her head to the side, she staggered back in shock at the sight: a massive claw—how had she not seen it before?—had ascended from the floor, seized GLaDOS's head, and crushed it nearly in half._

_Despite all the hatred she felt for the AI, her mind was reeling in horror._

" _Heh. See how_ you _like it, then," he said, tossing the sparking lump of metal into the incinerator. "Crushed and tossed aside. Now, where were we?"_

_She felt ill as the implications hit her: he was going to destroy the facility, and GLaDOS would not be there to replace him. She waved her arms in protest, trying to keep a straight face despite the horror she felt. She had to do something to stop him—_

" _What, don't tell me you_ actually _objected to that." His optic narrowed. "You really_ were _her friend, weren't you?"_

_She shook her head, eyes widening. She knew where he was going with this._

" _You're in this together, aren't you? You've both been playing me this whole time, both of you!" His eye narrowed and his pupil contracted in rage as he repeated the accusations—the ones she could still remember after all these years. "First you make me think you're brain damaged, then you convince me you're sworn enemies with your best friend over there—"_

_This wasn't going to happen again. It was_ not _going to happen again. She shook her head, finally calling out in desperation, "Wheatley, no!"_

_No,_ no, _why had she spoken? She wasn't supposed to do that! It made her sick to actually speak_ here _, like she'd just left herself vulnerable, but she couldn't take back her words._

_But despite all that, he didn't seem to care that she'd spoken to him for the first time. "So you took me straight to her, and, of course, decided to see just how crushable little old Wheatley was. Turns out,_ she _was pretty crushable, too, wasn't she?"_

" _No, that wasn't it!" she yelled, but for some reason he didn't care, and, she noted with horror, that enormous claw was reaching toward her._

" _Now how about we see just how crushable_ you _are."_

_She tried to move, but her legs felt like lead. As she struggled to get away, she looked up to see his face, his cracked blue optic nearly glowing white in barely-contained anger and hatred. Just as she was about to protest, she felt the grip at her sides—_

Chell sat up abruptly, taking a moment to register the fact that she was in her own bed at home and not standing in the central AI chamber back _there_. She leaned forward, rubbing her eyes with her hand as fragments of the dream drifted through her mind.

After leaving Aperture, she'd had nightmares about it nearly every night, frequently featuring impossible test chambers, turrets hidden around corners, portals that led straight into acid pits, and, of course, the two AIs that had brought her so much pain. Sometimes one of them would be in the chassis, shouting down at her or attacking her, while other times they would be working alongside her—but either way, the dreams brought back unpleasant memories.

The dreams gradually left her until they were infrequent—once every two months or more. But this had been the first one she'd had in nearly six months… and it wasn't hard to figure out why.

She could hear the muffled voice outside her door, and felt her stomach knot up.

_Why did I bring him back._

More to get her mind off of that than anything else, she looked over at her alarm clock, which read 5:57 in bright red digits. Her alarm would go off in three minutes anyway, so, heaving a sigh, she switched off the alarm and stepped out of bed, heading for her personal bathroom.

Once she'd gotten herself ready for the day, she crept toward her bedroom door, pausing to listen. The voice she'd heard—the same one from her dream—was still babbling on and on.

Slowly she opened the door and looked out into the dining room.

"…and even then, I-I'm pretty sure there's n-no way to get out of—" Wheatley stopped, and looked up at her. He was not a massive being, attached to an entire facility full of spike plates and turrets and neurotoxin; he was a tiny, half-broken robot, sitting atop her dining room table.

It was hard to believe that all those years ago, when they were both in Aperture, she had been completely at his mercy. Now the tables were turned: She was the one with power over _him_.

"Oh… hello," he said quietly, drawing her out of her introspection. "Um. I-I don't know if, if you heard me last night, b-but th-thank you f-for—for f-fixing my voice."

Chell stared for a moment before acknowledging him with a brief nod and heading into the kitchen. As she went about preparing some fried eggs for breakfast, she couldn't help but notice the way he nervously babbled on. His voice had lost the thickness it had had the night before—he'd gotten used to talking again much faster than she had—but it still retained a stutter as he tripped over his sentences. Odd, since she had fixed his vocal processor… unless the stutter was there for some other reason.

"L-look, lady, uh, a-are… are you l-listening to me?"

She glanced back at him before going back to frying the eggs.

"Great, um, if i-it would be all right, I mean, i-if you don't mind, c-could y—no, er, this—this is a s- _suggestion_ , of course—could you, um, t-tell me… wh-what it is you want from me?"

Chell paused.

What she wanted from him? Was that not obvious? Wouldn't he want to show himself worth forgiving, if he truly regretted what he'd done? She shouldn't have to tell him this—and, really, she did not want to have to speak to him any more than absolutely necessary.

He stared at her until he realized she wouldn't answer, and glanced aside. "I-I know you c-can talk… I-I heard you, and all that. But couldn't you just—sorry, sorry, j-just _suggesting_ this, j-just a suggestion—could you p-please tell me wh-why you won't answer…?"

…Tell him why she didn't want to talk. She fought the urge to hold her head in her hands at the sheer idiocy of the request. The eggs were about done now, though, so she retrieved a plate from a cabinet and dumped the eggs from the frying pan onto it.

"…A-all right, don't answer me," he said, starting to sound particularly miserable. Whether it was sincere or not, she ignored it, letting him babble on. "I-I just thought it would be nice t-to know if you i-intend to hurt me or not. B-because, I-I thought, m-maybe it wouldn't h-hurt so bad if… if I expected it." He twitched and shut his optic. "Though it's r-really hard to say either w—"

His voice broke off into a yelp when she grabbed him by the handle and set him on the floor off to the side of the table. As soon as she let go, he wrapped his handle around his body, shivering.

Chell just heaved a sigh, brushing the dirt off the table before sitting down to eat her breakfast. It might be better, she thought, to place him somewhere where he wouldn't be getting in the way, but then she'd have to move him back and forth from there and to the table whenever she wanted to repair him.

"…Oh, y-you just… set me down," came Wheatley's voice, sounding only slightly relieved. "L-look, um, I-I was saying earlier, p-probably didn't hear me, but—but I-I really can't tell whether you're c-coming or going. Wh-whether you're going to h-hurt me, or..." He trailed off, apparently uncertain of what else she could possibly want to do.

He wasn't the only one that couldn't figure that out.

Finishing her quick meal, Chell placed the dish in the sink, making a mental note to do the dishes tonight or tomorrow, and trying to avoid thinking about the bigger problem for now. She was inwardly glad she'd woken up on time this morning, and took her time getting her things ready to go to work.

"O-or… you could j-just ignore me, th-that's fine. At least you're n-not insulting me, like _she_ —" _Spark, twitch._

Chell gave an involuntary shudder, knowing exactly what "she" he was talking about. Before, she'd figured that monster of an AI might have had something to do with his condition, but the confirmation somehow made her feel sick. She knew all too well what it was like to be at _her_ mercy.

…But then, she hadn't done anything to _deserve_ something like that. _He_ had. Whatever had happened to him, he deserved it all, and worse.

Chell saw him twitch again, a few sparks shooting out of the corner of his optic and out of the frayed wires that stuck out of his sides. Immediately she remembered the mess she'd seen when she'd shone the flashlight into him: all the cracks and dents, and the parts that were outright broken through completely—perhaps the robot equivalent of broken bones. It would have made her sick to think of GLaDOS actually doing that to a human—which she probably had at some point—but Wheatley…

She forced the image out of her mind, and wound up walking out ten minutes earlier than she needed to, slamming the door shut behind her. She kept walking, heading to work at a steady pace. It wasn't until she was a few minutes from her house that she realized she'd left Wheatley on the floor.

She almost turned around, but stopped herself. No, she was not going to allow herself to feel sorry for him. She hadn't forgotten what he'd done. And even if GLaDOS had messed around with him, she'd been through the same—though he didn't have the benefit of limbs, or a portal gun…

Chell cursed under her breath.

_He deserved it_ , she thought as she forced herself to keep walking. _He deserved it._

* * *

He waited for nearly half an hour before determining that no, the lady was not going to come back and place him back on the table anytime soon.

"W-well, a-at least I can't fall off of here," Wheatley muttered. "I g-guess I should be th-thankful for that. And more stuff to see, here." If the back of a couch counted as "more stuff," anyway. "Y-yes, put that on my list of 'things I still have going for me.' …N-not a long list, but better than n-nothing. Right?"

He went quiet for a moment, as though waiting for someone in the room to answer him. When the answer never came, he heaved a sigh. "Well, r-right, better than nothing. At l-least I can t-talk again. That's something. F-far better than nothing—one of the best th-things I could have back, if I'm honest." But his gaze drifted downward to where his lower handle should have been. "M-might be nice to have th-that back, though." His upper handle was still not quite used to bearing all of his weight, and then there was that constant, nagging pain he felt from the wires that should have connected to the ones in his lower handle—a pain that would never leave until that was repaired. "W-wonder if I could ask h-her to fix it—no, no, _suggest_ it, s-suggest it."

His optic contracted, darting around the room as he looked around to make sure nothing was going to electrocute or crush him for that. He knew it was GLaDOS who had told him to never tell her what to do, but he couldn't shake the fear that maybe the lady didn't like it, either. Really, unless she actually spoke to him again, how was he supposed to know what she liked and what she didn't?

He twitched, a shower of sparks scattering around the floor. "C-c'mon, luv... c-can't you j-just—just t-tell me s- _something_?" His eye aperture relaxed, but the glow in his optic dulled to a near gray-blue. "P-probably not. I-I guess m-my voice is about th-the best I'm getting. D-doesn't really matter, anyway." After a moment, he shut his optic. "I-if she hurts me again, I'll j-just be back to where I was. N-not much better th-than I am now."

Once again, the numbness was starting to overtake him. He found it was happening more often, and didn't feel any strong desire to resist it. Accepting that his situation would get no better was preferable to hoping it would get better and being disappointed. Yes, he'd gotten his voice back, but could he really expect to be repaired any further? Could he really expect the lady to know how to fix the rest of his broken innards, his handle, his casing, his processor?

Wheatley kept his optic shut, uncaring about whatever was going on now and what was going to happen later for a while. He could still hear things—a rustling noise, caused by the wind blowing through the trees, as he'd learned, and some other higher-pitched noises that probably came from some sort of animal—but didn't pay attention to them. He couldn't get outside, and in his numb state, he wasn't particularly curious about the sounds. But the numbness eased a little as another thought entered into his processor—how much time had passed since the lady had left.

"W-wonder when she'll be back, anyway," he muttered idly.

" _She won't be._ "

His eye shields snapped open, and his optic contracted to a flickering pinprick. While his vocal processor was perfectly functional, he found he had lost his voice.

" _True, she is a lunatic. But even a lunatic wouldn't be stupid enough to come back to the moron that backstabbed her._ "

"Th-this is—is j-just my processor playing tricks on m-me," Wheatley finally managed to stammer, his voice a barely-audible squeak. "I-I'm not hearing anything."

" _Maybe you aren't, maybe you are. Who knows with you anymore. Your processor is so broken I'm amazed you're still functioning. But then, you were never very good at any function you ever tried to perform. Which is worse than not being able to function at all._ "

"No, no, n-not listening because y-you're not actually here…"

" _You keep telling yourself that. And while you're at it, go ahead and keep telling yourself that lunatic will come back, too. Maybe you'll manage to delude yourself into thinking that she won't dismantle you and throw you out if she returns._ "

"Sh-she wouldn't…!" He tried to put on a brave face, but it didn't stay for long. "W-would she?"

" _What do you think?_ "

"I—I think… I think…"

" _Oh, right. You're incapable of thinking properly. Perhaps that's why you've deluded yourself into thinking you're not in my chamber._ "

"No! N-no, I-I'm n-not back _there_ , I-I'm not in—in that ch-chamber," he stammered. His processor was beginning to simulate terrified panting, despite his lack of lungs. "I-I'm…"

" _Your optic has been glitching for some time now. So, yes, you are here, and you're just not seeing it right._ "

He shut his optic, curling his handle around his body and shivering uncontrollably. "No, no, nononono…"

" _Oh, look how small and pathetic you are. My remote claws aren't even that big, and I could crush you with just one of those. But then, a spike plate would be more preferable, I think. I never did crush you properly._ "

"No no no no _NO NO NO_ —" He opened his optic again, looking frantically around the room, but he was still sitting by the table... wasn't he?

" _I have the ability to bring a spike plate over here, if I open a few panels in this ceiling. And if I damage the floor, well, that's a small price to pay. I can just replace the panels. I can do whatever I want, unlike you._ "

"N-no, no, I'm not th-there—" he tried to convince himself, fighting to focus on the room around him. He could still see the back of the couch, and the floor, and some of the walls—but no, there were _the black walls, and the floor, made up of panels—panels that could move away to reveal those mechanical arms…_

_He could hear the gears whirring somewhere above him, and frantically tried to rock himself, to get away, though he swore he could hear the gears growing louder._

" _Oh, are you trying to run? You have neither legs nor a rail. And even if you had either, where could you hope to go? I can hide the exits in this room as easily as I can create them._ "

" _No, no no no no_ please _!" He could see the spike plate now, lowering to where he was on the floor, but he struggled anyway, even though it hurt his mangled casing to do so. He had to get away, but the spike plate was getting closer and closer, until it touched the top of his casing—_

— _and it was like it had before, pressing down slowly into his casing, causing the metal to buckle and warp and sending his processor into a whirl from the sheer agony—_

Wheatley's optic glitched, then went blank.

While there was no-one in the little house to observe this, it did not go unnoticed. Shifting on its perch with its slightly crooked talons, a crow peered through the window, blinked, and fluttered away.

* * *

The next thing he knew, his processor was sluggishly booting up again. His vision and hearing came online shortly after, but they were still fuzzy, and when his vocal processor came on, his voice was slurred. "Wuh… what h-happened?"

Wheatley blinked a few times as his vision began to clear—or clear as much as it could with his cracked optic—and nearly panicked when he found his view was different from what it had been before. "No, nononono, I'm n-not s-supposed to be b-back, I'm not—"

There was a light _clunk_ as he felt himself being set down, and he felt the pressure ease on his upper handle. The lady was there, giving him a funny look before heading into the kitchen.

"…Oh," he said quietly, realizing that she'd just set him back on the table. He must have been out for a few hours. But what had made him crash in the first pla—

"Wh-where is she?!" he blurted out, optic contracting to a pinprick as he frantically searched the room. "And the—the spike p-plate, where—i-it was here, I saw it—!"

The lady was pulling some things out of a pantry, but glanced at him for a moment to shake her head.

"B-but—but she _was_ here!" he cried desperately, looking around again from where he sat on the table. "I-I could hear her—I know I could h-hear her…"

The lady just sighed and shook her head again as she continued to prepare her dinner.

Wheatley's voice dropped in volume, but still loud enough for her to hear. "B-but then, I-I thought I was in the ch-chamber again. My processor's s-so messed up, I-I can't—I don't know what's r-real and…" …and she wouldn't say a thing, not a thing to confirm what was real and what wasn't, what she wanted to do to him and what she didn't.

And then he remembered what he'd heard _her_ say—or what he'd thought he'd heard her say, he still wasn't sure—about the lady returning to dismantle him. But… but she wouldn't actually do that, would she? She just repaired part of him! She just repaired his vocal processor, so why would she go and break it again? Unless she didn't mean to break _that_ part of him…

"Er, s-sorry, lady, are you—are you planning on s-something tonight? I-I mean, last night you f-fixed my vocal p-processor and all…" He pulled his lower eye shield up in what he hoped was a friendly smile, though it probably looked a little odd with his pupil contracted.

Without looking up from her work, she gave a nod.

"O-oh, great, tremendous," he stammered. "Um… But what—what _is_ it, exactly, that you were p-planning on doing?"

The lady shrugged in response.

"Er… th-that's not t-terribly reassuring," Wheatley said, his voice taking a more fearful pitch again. "Y-you can't tell me?"

He watched for her response, and winced when he saw her roll her eyes and give him a look at seemed to say, _you'll see_.

"That's—that's n-not _quite_ the response I was l-looking for…" It was so frustrating, knowing that she could talk, yet she refused to say a word. It reminded him of how she never told him about how she'd murdered GLaDOS, and how he wound up getting crushed— _twitch, spark._

He tried calling out to her a few more times as she made her dinner, but she mostly ignored him. The times she did respond, it was never verbally. It hadn't been so bad, back in Aperture when he hadn't known she was able to talk at all, but now that he knew she was fully capable of speech, and she never said a thing to him…

He continued to ramble on, even as she set him aside to eat her dinner. By this point he wasn't even paying attention to what he was saying—he was just rambling on and on, hoping that she would eventually respond.

"…and—and really, lady, I-I don't think it would be that hard j-just—just give me a hint? J-just… something? Maybe?" He glanced up at her, but any hope he might have had had long since fled. But she did respond that time—nonverbally, of course—by picking him up and setting him back on the table, laying him on his side. He winced, and gave a simulated gulp.

Well, whatever she was planning to do, he would soon find out.

He shut his optic, wondering if this whole thing would be as painful as it was last night. At least now, he though, he could tell her when it hurt… though maybe that would be her intention. Had she _really_ fixed his vocal processor just to be able to hear him scream?

There was a faint _click_ , immediately followed by a blinding light shining behind his optic. While the flashlight wasn't shining directly into his face, his pupil contracted anyway. "Oh—er—h-having a—a look around in there, a-are you? Th-there's nothing to see, y-you know." He opened his optic a little further and tried to look, but instead felt the incredibly unpleasant sensation of her shoving her palm against his side— _stay still_. He shuddered, but obediently let his optic go limp. It was easier than trying to move it around with his broken innards, anyway.

He gasped sharply at the sudden feeling of something sharp nudging into his insides, pushing aside some of the broken wires. "Wh-what are—what are you doing b-back there?" he whimpered, straining to move his optic again, only to have her press her hand against his hull. She—she wasn't actually going to _dismantle_ him, was she?

The sharp thing, whatever it was, pulled away, and he was about to make an attempt at relaxing when something grabbed at the sensitive, broken wires—

— _and he couldn't move as half the arms gripped his casing while the other half dug through his body, breaking the poles that supported him, tugging at the wires of his artificial nervous system and causing some of them to snap and he couldn't even scream and the pain was so unbearable he was writhing but that only made it more agonizing but she wouldn't_ stop _and_ —

A sharp cry yanked him out of out of the memory.

For a moment, he was grateful to be out of that nightmare, until he saw the lady standing a distance off, holding her right hand. A stream of red fluid was slowly dripping from her palm.

"…oh…" he said very quietly, his optic small and dim. "Y-you're… leaking. H-how did—"

She spun around before he could finish, running into her room. She didn't shut the door, and he could see her dart into another room connected to that one.

"A-are you all right?" he called, allowing himself to raise his voice. "H-hello?"

It was a few minutes before she finally walked out of her room. The blood had been cleaned off, and her right hand was wrapped in soft white material. While he was slightly relieved to see the blood gone, he couldn't help but notice that she… didn't particularly look happy.

"W-well, l-looks like you're all… p-patched up then, right?" Wheatley asked, giving a nervous grin. It wasn't a grin out of happiness for her, but rather one that he hoped might appease her anger. "R-right, so, a-about what y-you were doing—" She was starting to walk toward him, and it didn't look like it was to hear him better. He spoke louder anyway. "—i-it would be nice i-if you d-didn't m-mess around back th-there—" She had walked past him, out of his line of sight, and he began to speak more quickly, voice taking a higher pitch, "—s-since i-it kind of hurts and y-you might wind up h-hurting your ha—"

_CLUNK_.

His voice broke off completely, his optic an unfocused, flickering pinprick as his processor slowly registered the newly-acquired dent in his hull. The lady dropped the screwdriver next to him.

" _Stay still._ "

He twitched once, twice.

She glared at him for a moment before turning to head back to her room.

Slowly his eye plates narrowed, though his pupil remained contracted. Just as she was about to step through the door, he all but screamed:

" _You never said_ _ **anything**_!"

The lady stopped.

"I thought you were going to dismantle me! I thought you were going to pull my wires out all over again! I thought—I thought I was back _there_ again, with _her_ breaking me and pulling my insides out and how the bloody heck was I supposed to know you weren't doing the same thing when _YOU NEVER SAID A BLOODY WORD_!"

Wheatley was panting now, rather uselessly, but the rage was very quickly draining. "B-but go ahead, then… g-go ahead and gut me, when it's no less than I bloody deserve. I don't know what else I-I'm bloody good for anymore…"

He went limp, his optic staring down at the table he sat on.

A light tap at his side caused him to flinch, but look up. She was standing closer to him, now, and it looked like most of her anger had drained, too.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet, but firm. "I wasn't trying to hurt you before."

His upper lid drooped. "Y-you… th-then why didn't you _say_ —"

"I didn't trust you anyway, and _this_ —" she held up her injured hand "—did not help."

Wheatley blinked a few times, looking from the bandaged hand to her, and with a sinking feeling realized that he had probably been the cause of that. But that wasn't the only reason for the feeling. "Y-you… never trusted me?"

"The only thing I trusted from _there_ was my portal gun. And that's long since gone." She seemed to hesitate, though, before placing her hand on the dent she'd made in his hull. "…Sorry."

Wheatley's optic widened, staring straight ahead in shock. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her head back into her room, though she said nothing more.

The confirmation that she really _didn't_ mean to hurt him and her apology for hitting him was enough of a shock, but there was something else she'd said that his processor was having trouble registering.

Sometime after she'd left him, his processor went into a whirl at the realization.

"She _doesn't have the portal gun_?"


	4. Connections

"Where is the portal gun?"

Chell stared. Of all the things she might have expected Wheatley to say when she walked out of her room the next morning, _that_ had not been one of them.

And yet he was sitting on the table, staring intently at her, optic contracted in a confused expression. "Wh-where is it?" he repeated, fighting to keep his voice steady.

She was just as confused as he was. Why did he even _care_? Why would it matter where the portal gun was? It wasn't like there were many portal-able surfaces outside of Aperture. Heaving a sigh, she shook her head and walked to the kitchen area to make breakfast.

" _Well_?" His voice had gone up a pitch.

Chell shook her head in disbelief. Why did it matter so much where the portal gun was? Back when they were escaping, yes, it was a necessity, and when he was testing her—

She shuddered. No, there was no reason he needed to be concerned about it.

But he was starting to sound desperate. "Where is it? _Tell me_!"

Heaving a sigh, Chell turned back to the core and pointed upward.

Wheatley looked up, blinking. "Th-the ceiling? Is that what you mean? Th-there's no portal gun plastered there—or, uh, the second floor? O-or is there not one? Then…" He looked from her pointed finger and back to her a few times before his optic widened. " _Space_?"

Nodding, she went back to preparing her breakfast. She was relieved that her answer seemed to have satisfied him, since he wasn't saying anything now. But just as she was starting to peel an orange, she heard him yell:

"H-how the bloody heck did you get it up _there_?!"

Chell froze in her position, standing over the garbage can with her thumb sticking underneath the peel of the orange. She slowly turned to look at the core, giving him an utterly bewildered look.

_Really?_

"D-don't—don't look at me like that!" he cried, giving her a frustrated look. "It's—h-how did you manage t-to _lose_ it so soon? And—and not only lose it, but send it to _space_?"

So soon? _Five years_ was soon? Five years ago, when she opened a portal to the moon, lost her gun, and sent him out into space? She knew his processor was having problems, but for it to be _this_ bad…

"Y-you're—you've got to be kidding me! Y-you risked everything to g-go back there—go back to what may as well have been Android Hell—and you steal your p-precious portal gun back—" His voice was taking a higher pitch, and he was shivering in his casing. "—and… and then you _lose_ it?!"

Chell went back to peeling the orange, but still listened, her brow furrowed. What on earth was he talking about? Yes, she'd risked a lot trying to get her portal gun back after he woke her up from cryosleep, but what choice did she have? Furthermore, why was it upsetting him so much that she didn't have it anymore?

"You—you broke in there, and s- _she_ was yelling—" _Twitch, spark_. "—but you kept going, and y-you were wrecking things, just to get to the gun, I-I remember hearing the c-crashes, a-and _she_ was yelling at you, a-absolutely furious, b-but I was… I was so happy t-to know y-you came back—" His voice broke.

She didn't look at him, instead staring into the garbage can. She had no memory of the incident he was referring to, but whatever it was…

No. It hadn't happened. She had come within proximity of that shed many times over the past five years, but she had never, ever gone back in. She had never come across another entrance to that hell, never dared set foot back into the depths, risking never coming out again… No.

Whatever he was talking about made no sense. It sounded like a nightmare, but robots didn't dream, did they?

A sharp, burning pain seared in her hand, jolting her out of her introspection. The juice from the orange had seeped into her bandage, getting into the cut in her palm. Quickly she set the fruit aside and turned the faucet on, running her hand under the water. But the cut—the one he'd given her last night—reminded her: no, robots did not dream, but they did hallucinate.

"…Wh-why did you do that?"

Chell looked back at him. His voice had gone quiet, and his optic was flickering.

Wheatley was really fighting to get the words out now. "I-I thought… you'd c-come to save me. A-and it seemed like you had… Sh- _she_ sent me to you, and—and… don't you remember?"

She didn't answer, but kept her attention on him, waiting for him to continue.

"Sh-she had us trapped in a room... filled it with neurotoxin, but I-I got you out, opened a secret panel, a-and we found another test chamber—" He broke off again, and his shivering intensified.

_Test chamber_. The very mention of one made her stomach sink, but the way he was talking—the way he shook, the way he had so much trouble getting the words out, trying to explain what had happened—

" _What's your deal. Huh? Come on. Is it trouble back home somewhere? Were you running away or something?"_

_No, she wasn't running anymore. That's why she was_ here _. That's why she was trying to find a place to settle into, close by, but not too close._

" _Look, if you don't wanna talk about it, fine. But you ought 'a tell someone if there's trouble."_

_Right. If he'd meant it, he wouldn't have kept asking her, every single day at work, until she couldn't take it anymore—_

_She finally poured it out to him, partly to get him to shut up, partly because she felt a need deep within her to tell_ someone _. She struggled to make her vocal cords cooperate after such a long time of neglect, and her voice shook—but not from fear, no, she was not afraid. But it was so hard to finally say everything about Aperture, about the portal gun, about the acid, the turrets, the testing—_ her _—and it was only when her aching throat forced her to stop that she noticed the tears stinging at the corners of her eyes._

_She'd finally said it. She'd finally told them._

_He didn't believe a word._

_And they avoided her._

Chell blinked back to the present, suddenly realizing she'd been staring at Wheatley. He was still shaking, and she couldn't tell if he was fighting to speak or fighting to keep quiet. As she watched, she could feel something within her—something she had never wanted to feel for him.

She wanted to hate him. She wanted to want to stop trying to fix him, drag him out to the bridge, and chuck him into the lake.

Yet here she was, relating to his broken voice, his intense shivers, his too-painful-to-tell memories.

She forced herself to turn away, and went back into the kitchen.

"…I-I called th-the escape lift, that time," she heard him say, his voice shaking. "I-I called it for _you_. I-I did it right. D-didn't mess up—d-didn't punch you d-down… down a…" She blocked out the quiet sounds he was making in the pause. "I-I c-called it for you. And... a-and you left me… t-took the gun, and left me… l-left me… with _her_."

She ate her food slowly, trying to resist the urge to respond.

"…I-I hurt you."

And she nearly choked.

"A-and I don't j-just mean last night—th-though I did hurt you th-then, too, s-sorry about… about that—but I-I hurt you when… wh-when I stopped the lift, wh-when I accused you of—of th-the things you didn't do… wh-when I tried to kill you—I… I was s-so bossy and m-monstrous—and—" He was fighting to keep his composure; the words were coming out with more and more difficulty. "Wh-what I did w-was j-just—just as b-bad— _worse_ —th-than what you did, u-using me to get your g-gun back… a-and leaving me b-behind. And… a-and I… I d… _deserved it_."

Chell took a deep breath.

"No."

Wheatley went completely silent. She went on:

"I never did that."

When she faced him again, his optic was flickering, but every time it came back into focus, it was staring directly into her eyes. Weakly, he said, "B-but I saw all that..."

She stared right back. "It never happened."

He continued to stare at her, expression changing to something she couldn't quite place. It was somewhere between confusion, relief, guilt, suspicion, and who knew what else.

He stayed completely silent, even as she finished eating, gathered her things together, and headed for the door. But when she finally opened the door, she heard him cry out:

"W-wait!"

She stopped, turning toward him.

"Are you c-coming back?" Once again, he was fighting to keep his voice steady, and failing to cover the anxiety in his words.

"…Yes."

Chell waited for him to speak again. When he remained silent, she stepped outside, and gently shut the door behind her.

The cold air filled her lungs as she took a breath. It helped clear her mind as she walked down the road, glancing up at the dead trees, but it didn't get rid of the feeling she felt deep within her—the connection she felt with the little core, even though he'd hurt her all those years ago. She wanted to stamp out the feeling, to simply continue hating him—bitterness was easier than empathy.

She wanted to hate him, but it was growing more and more difficult, especially after that confession.

She stopped in her tracks, gazing up at the overcast sky.

While he'd never said it, she knew it anyway: he was sorry.

Chell was not the kindest person—Aperture had made sure of that. Spending years in a place where everything was out to get her, where she was constantly insulted, mocked, taunted, lied to, betrayed—it had wrought its work on her.

She had thought herself justified in all the bitterness she'd felt toward him. After all that he'd done to her, he deserved all the hatred she could give him, but… he knew that. And he knew he'd done wrong.

Could she really go on hating him like this?

"… _really is a lunatic_."

Chell whipped around, eyes wide. The voice had been very, very quiet, but she knew what she'd heard. Yet there was nothing around her but the dead trees, the chilly wind, and maybe a bird or two.

She sighed, rubbing her head as she continued on toward work. It has been ages since she'd heard that _voice_ whispering insults at her; all this reflection on what had happened back _there_ was probably getting to her.

Her boots crunched through the rotting leaves as she walked, not one movement going unnoticed by a pair of dark-red, avian eyes—or the eye of a camera. The crow was perched low in a dormant maple tree, but a quiet command from the speaker in its mechanical harness sent it flying off.

* * *

At first, he wasn't sure what it was. He'd been feeling so many things at once that the confusion almost left him feeling sick. But there was that one thing—the one feeling that was starting to dominate the others. It was something like a spark—not a bad spark, not like he was twitching or being electrocuted, but a good one, like a charge of energy on his management rail, like a warmth that filled him despite the chill in the house...

It was hope.

"Th-the lady… really didn't come back, did she? Sh-she didn't—didn't use me to get th-that portal gun back…? She… never betrayed me?"

It seemed almost insane, since he knew what he saw, but the thought was so amazing, he didn't want to let it go. "M-maybe I _was_ j-just seeing things… Not like it hasn't happened before! B-but then if I was… oh. Oh, man alive…!"

Wheatley couldn't help himself—he spun back and forth in his casing until his creaking innards made him stop. But he didn't care. "She didn't betray me! I-I dreamed the whole thing up! Oh—wait, no, wh-what if she didn't really say she never did it, a-and I was just seeing things then?"

His optic contracted in horror at the thought, but he tried to shake it off. "N-no, no, she said it!" he said with a nod, trying to reassure himself. "S-so she doesn't _completely_ hate me!"

But then there were memories and scars of what had happened over the past few days: her threats to hurt him, her angry looks, the dent she'd made in his hull… But—but then she'd still taken him away from Aperture, repaired his vocal processor, and even said she didn't want to hurt him… No, she wouldn't do that if she _completely_ hated him.

"S-so maybe, if I play my cards right, she won't hate me at all! And—and she'll finish fixing me, and… Ace of fours, right, I th-think I still have one of those."

" _You know those don't exist in a set of cards. But then, what am I saying. Of course you don't, moron._ "

He twitched badly, sparks showering across the table. But now that he'd finally found something to cling to again, he wasn't going to give it up so easily. "N-no, you're not here, I-I'm just hearing things…"

" _Oh, you're certainly hearing things. You're hearing me, because I am actually there. Meanwhile, you are simply imagining that you are not in my chamber_."

"N-no, no, I'm not, b-because I've got it figured out!" He fought to keep the fear out of his voice, not completely succeeding. "Th-the lady never c-came back t-to the facility! She never used me t-to escape s-so she could get the portal gun back! Sh-she never did any of that! She _said_ so! M-my processor was just scrambled—but I get it now! But sh-she did come for me, a-and take me to this place, away from you, which means _you're_ not really here!"

" _Amazing_."

"Y-yeah, isn't it? Not such a moron now, am I?" Though he couldn't expand his casing, he still felt himself swelling with pride.

" _No, I mean it's amazing that you've deluded yourself so much. Even if you weren't hallucinating right now, you know the lunatic was lying to you. She hates you._ "

Wheatley flinched, but kept a tight grip on that little spark. "N-no, she—she said she didn't have the g-gun! And I'll ask her—wh-when she comes back, I'll ask her to prove it!"

" _It is not possible to prove a negative. You have nothing to prove that she was telling the truth. All evidence points to the opposite. She was simply lying to you to get you to shut up. Which you are incredibly bad at, by the way._ "

"That's—that's not true! She wouldn't say that j-just..." He shuddered again. "I-I told her—I _told_ her wh-what I did was wrong. Sh-she _knows_ I'm sorry!"

" _Really. You_ actually _apologized to her._ "

"O-of course I—" His sentence broke off into a sharp, horrified gasp as he realized that no, he never _had_ actually said he was sorry.

" _That's what I thought. So, in that little imaginary world of yours, the lunatic has never heard you apologize. And even if she did, what makes you think she would accept your apology, after what you did?_ "

"Sh-she _would_! Sh-she'd understand—"

" _Oh, I'm_ certain _she would understand your complete betrayal of her—the only person who ever helped you. I'm certain she would completely comprehend why you would have wanted to murder her._ "

"I-I…"

" _Not that it matters. She's not here anymore. She's abandoned you._ "

"She _said_ she was coming back!" he cried. "Sh-she _told_ me!"

" _She was lying about that._ "

He shivered, trying to block out her words, but the doubt still clawed at him, threatening to rip his hope out of his feeble grasp.

" _She was lying about everything. She used you to get her portal gun back, because a portal gun is actually useful, unlike a broken piece of scrap metal that happens to have an equally-broken processor attached to it. She lied about coming back for you, because you were creating such a fuss._ "

"Not listening, not listening, not listening…" he muttered to himself, though he almost felt sick from the terror and doubt.

" _Your voice is worse than nails on a chalkboard, and you never shut up. Even a lunatic like her can't stand you. She has left you all alone in your misery, to sit here for years and years until you rust away._ "

"No, no, _no_ , it's not true, it's not—"

" _Stop deluding yourself._ " And here the voice finally paused, only for a moment, before continuing harsh and low: " _She_ hates you."

Something inside Wheatley snapped.

" _SHUT UP_!" he screamed, eye shields narrowing and his optic contracting, burning in a bright fury. His voice had taken a higher pitch again, but his fear was mixed with rage. "Y— _you're_ the liar! Y-you always have been! _You're_ the lunatic, not her! You're completely mad! You're not even there! You hear me?! _YOU'RE NOT THERE_!"

" _Says the core with the shattered processor._ "

Wheatley felt his insides twist—his outburst had had no effect whatsoever on her. It made him sick to think that there was nothing he could do to fight against her voice. Shutting his optic, he tried to block out her voice from… wherever it was coming from—which _should_ be nowhere. He whimpered, trying to convince himself that he was just hearing things, as he had many times before. She wasn't there, she wasn't there, he shouldn't even have to argue with her if she wasn't there…

" _But you can go on believing whatever you wish in your little fantasy world—go on believing that the lunatic doesn't hate you, and that she'll come back for you. Meanwhile, I think I'm going to rearrange your wires._ "

His eye shields snapped open, optic glitching in horror. "No— _no_! Y-you can't—you're not really there—!" But every time he blinked, he could see a flicker of that _chamber_ , but after a few times it stayed, and _he tried to squirm away, but the cable prevented him from moving far. He could see the floor panels open, and the arms snagged his casing, while a few others dug into his side once more._

" _No—no, no, not again, no, I'm not here, I'm not here—" And he saw her looming over him, yellow optic glowing in a malicious light._

" _Keep telling yourself that, metal ball._ "

" _NO!_ NO _!" He squirmed and struggled with all his might, optic contracting and dilating frantically in panic. "I'm not here! I'm not here! I-I'm—I'm back at her house, and she'll come back for me—"_

_The arms tugged at the sensitive, broken wires, and he could_ feel _them—_

_It was all he could think to do to keep his hopes from being shattered all over again—to keep him from complete despair. "_ LADY _!" he screamed. "LADY, COME BACK! HELP ME! LADY!_ PLEASE _! COME BACK!"_

" _If you want to wear out your vocal processor again, go ahead. You'd be doing me a favor for once._ "

" _LADY! I'M SORRY! I'M_ SORRY _—PLEASE HELP—_ PLEASE _!_ HELP _!"_

_But she was not there. It was just him, GLaDOS, and the mechanical arms, which were slowly, carefully pulling his wiring out._

* * *

She remembered the forest. She remembered running through it without so much as pausing at the border, plunging herself into the darkness of the wood. It was not _there_ , so she had thought there was nothing to fear… but the horror of Aperture was not something so easily escaped.

The creak of a cricket may have been the whirring of a turret, opening its casing to fire at her. The caw of the bird may have been that crow, plunging her mind back into the depths of the facility. The sound of the wind through the leaves may have been the hissing of neurotoxin through the vents. They were not the same noises, but they still filled her with dread, and pushed her to run farther and farther away.

But no matter where she ran, she could not escape the fear of a red beam suddenly coming into her line of sight, or a spike plate lurching out from above the tree tops, or a yellow light glaring at her through the darkness, or an oversized blue optic watching her every move.

She _knew_ they were not there. She _knew_ it. But while she had left Aperture, a part of her had not—she still felt herself running through the test chambers, still worried that she might slip and fall into a moat of acid, still looked around the corner to check for turrets. She knew that none of that was there—but she saw it anyway.

And then at night, she would dream she was still _there_ , and wake up, wondering if she really was.

That was five years ago, but even now the memories plagued her.

" _I-I thought I was in the ch-chamber again. My processor's s-so messed up, I-I can't—I don't know what's r-real and…"_

…neither had she, when she'd first escaped that hell.

It wasn't a time of her life that she enjoyed reflecting on, yet throughout the day, the memories kept resurfacing… and it wasn't hard to figure out why.

She wondered what _he_ was remembering.

The thoughts and memories plagued Chell throughout the day, even as she walked home under the dark, overcast sky. Sometimes the thoughts brought a sick, uneasy feeling with them—that unnerving feeling that something was not right. She'd felt it frequently back _there_ , and even after she'd left. It was the feeling that told her when a turret might waiting for her, when a test chamber was too simple, or when _she_ was watching through a camera she had not yet disabled.

But as she drew closer to her house, the feeling intensified for reasons she could not immediately place. Her pace quickened, and she strained to listen, though she was not sure just what she was listening _for._ She knew she would hear no gentle turret voice, nor the harsh, metallic voice of an AI, but that did not slow her. And when she was nearly there, she heard it.

It was _his_ voice, and it was screaming—a glitched, garbled, static-y scream.

She ran to the front door, unlocked it, and rushed in, only to wince at the horrible noise coming from the hunk of metal on her dining room table. Holding her hands over her ears, she approached him, watching as his handle flailed and his optic flickered and glitched. He was still screaming, never having to stop for a breath, and she thought it was just unintelligible yelling until—

" _LADY_! PLEASE, HELP!"

Chell froze. She knew he was hallucinating, and it certainly wasn't the first time she'd heard him scream while in this state, but the fact that he was screaming for _her_ …

Drawing in a breath, she reached out to grab him, but one glance at her bandaged hand and his flailing handle made her think otherwise. She had not forgotten how his panic had intensified the last time she'd tried to grab him by his sides… nor had she forgotten how she'd brought him out of this before. As much as she absolutely hated it, she spoke.

"I'm here."

Wheatley's screams finally broke off, his optic's aperture remaining constant, though still flickering a little. Blinking, he glanced around before his gaze fell on Chell, and his aperture widened. "You…" His overworked vocal processor almost sounded hoarse. "You… came back."

She nodded, fighting the urge to rub her forehead; his screams had given her a headache, though she didn't let it show. While she felt no desire to speak again, she did wonder if she should do something else to reassure him, or just go off and rest a little before making dinner. But before she could do either, he spoke up quickly:

"W-were you t-telling the truth?" His optic contracted again as he gave her an almost desperate look. "W-were you?"

Chell nodded slowly, glancing away. It had seemed so ridiculous earlier, but now, after she'd remembered all the anguish she had gone through after Aperture, never sure if she truly was free, or if everything was just a dream… She looked him in the optic, and reached out.

The core flinched, looking like he wanted to duck away from her, but she grabbed his upper handle anyway, giving it a firm squeeze.

"You're safe."

Wheatley stared at her in shock, and she stared right back, keeping her grip on his handle. A little voice within her assured that it was just to get him to shut up—to calm him down so he wouldn't keep giving her headaches like this, but she knew that was not the true reason. Not that she would ever admit it.

Strange as it seemed, she swore she felt a sort of tension leave him. His optic's aperture relaxed to show the full range of blue, which seemed a little brighter than she'd remembered seeing it that morning. His lower eye shield pulled up just a little, giving her the impression of a smile. And, finally:

"...Thanks."

Chell did not smile back, but let go of him, turning to face the kitchen, though she did not feel particularly hungry. She prepared a quick meal, constantly glancing down at her bandaged hand, and occasionally glancing back at him, but she did not speak, nor indicate anything just yet. After a quick meal, she returned to him and glanced pointedly at his side.

He stared back, narrowing his eye shields in worry, then twitched. "O-oh… y-you want… to w-work back there," he muttered. The idea almost seemed to terrify him—understandably, when she remembered what he'd said the other night. "Er... d-d'you think you can—you can do it s-some other time?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, r-right, I guess it doesn't… right. T-tell you what." He glanced around nervously before looking back up at her. "C-can you just b-be a little more, uh, g-gentle? I-it hurts, and—and my sleep mode…"

Sleep mode? Why hadn't he mentioned that—or used it—before?

Seeming to catch her confusion, he went on, "I-It doesn't w-work anymore." He closed his optic, shuddering. "Sh- _she_ did something to it."

The thought nearly made Chell sick until she realized that sleep for a robot was probably not the same thing as it was for a human. She was pretty sure they didn't need it to recharge, but something like that would have been nice for when she was working on him. Of course, GLaDOS _would_ take something like that away from him.

But she was not sure what she could do for him there just yet, so she gently set him down on his right side in preparation to work on his internal components again. Then, heading into her storage room, she retrieved the necessary tools and brought them back in a few trips. She did not place them in his line of vision, figuring it might make him panic less if he couldn't see what she was doing.

"Er—wh-what is it that—that y-you're going to do, anyway?" Wheatley asked, straining to move his optic.

So much for that idea. Chell turned on her flashlight, shining it into him before reaching into his side, gently grabbing a frayed wire. He gasped and tensed, his whole frame starting to shudder. Heaving a sigh, she turned to look him in the optic. "I'm going to fix these."

His optic contracted to a pinprick. "O-oh," he said, voice pitched to a near squeak.

Frowning, she looked back into his side before grabbing the other end of the frayed wire and carefully drawing them out into the light of the overhanging lamp. But this only made him shudder worse, and he strained to move his optic again.

"Stay still," she whispered, turning off the flashlight and setting it aside. She saw his "face" give a slight nod, and went on, preparing the two ends of the wire to be soldered back together. As she worked, she could hear his vocal processor, bizarrely, simulating terrified gasps, but tried to ignore them as she repaired the wire.

Once the solder and heat-shrink were applied, she let the repaired wire fall back into his side. Wheatley could apparently sense what she'd done, and turned his optic to stare at her. "A-are we done?" he asked hopefully, though he continued to shudder.

Chell frowned, turning on the flashlight and peering back through the hole in his side, staring at the frayed wires. He caught her look, and, after a moment of confusion, groaned. If he were human, she figured, his face would probably be turning green. But if he wanted to be fixed, he would just have to bear it. She reached into his side again.

As she continued to repair the severed wires, she kept an eye on him, pausing from her work every so often when she had to remind him to keep still; she did not want a repeat of last night. He kept quiet at first, but after a while began to mutter to himself, apparently to keep his mind off of what she was doing. At one point, she accidentally pulled a wire too hard, causing him to give a loud "OUCH!" in protest, and allowed him a moment to calm down.

He stayed silent after that, and she had resumed the repairs when she heard him muttering again, a little louder than before:

"N-no, no, you can't—you c-can't do that again, p-please, stop, p-please—"

Chell was glad she had thought to pull her hand out when she noticed the change in his speech, because immediately after that, he yelled and convulsed, as though he were being shocked. One glance at his optic confirmed her suspicion—he was hallucinating again.

"O-oh—" he whimpered, "I-I'm sorry, th-that was s-supposed to be a suggestion—!"

It wasn't hard to guess whom he thought he was talking to, and she did _not_ want to hear much more of it. She reached out, gripping his handle as soon as it was still enough. "She's not here."

Wheatley twitched, his optic coming back into focus and looking up at her. "I—I can't do it," he stammered. "I-I can't…"

Chell nodded. While she hadn't gotten all the wires, she had repaired a fair amount—the rest would have to be done later. She set him upright, letting her hand linger on her his handle for a moment before letting go.

He glanced aside for a moment before turning this way and that in his casing. While his innards still creaked, he still lifted his lower eye shield a fraction. "That— _does_ feel better, I admit," he said, and twitched again. The sparks flew out of his casing, but fewer than before. "N-not _quite_ all there, b-but still better. …Th-thanks."

She couldn't help but stare for a moment. While his casing was still misshapen, his handle still missing, and a few wires still frayed, he was not the same as the broken mess she had found him in. It was a subtle change, but she could tell—his optic was not as dull as it had been, and it showed a very faint smile. Just those two small things made him seem less like a dull hunk of scrap metal, and a little more like the bumbling, cheerful core she'd known all those years ago.

"…Lady?"

Chell started out of her thoughts, and shook her head. No, he still had a long way to go when it came to repairs, but they were done for tonight. The work had been tedious, and now all she wanted to do was sit down to read for a while. Without a word, she gathered up her tools and put them away. She was aware he was watching her, but tried to ignore him as she began to walk back to her room.

"Er—!"

Pausing, she turned to face him again. He was no longer giving that faint smile; instead, his optic had contracted again, and he almost looked scared.

"I—I'm… I-I did a lot of b-bad things, back—back then," he said with a shudder. "I-I know I already said—I was s-so bossy, and monstrous, a-and I really hurt you, and… and I'm… _sorry._ " His frame sparked in a bad twitch, but he repeated louder: "I-I'm _sorry_! I-I really am… I-I know I d-don't deserve t-to be forgiven, b-but—but I w-wanted you to know th-that I'm sorry… g-genuinely sorry…" His optic had drifted shut, as though he couldn't stand to look her in the eye.

Chell waited for a moment before walking back up to him and tapping him on the side. Reluctantly he opened his optic, but tried to avoid her gaze, fearful of her reaction. But she still waited until his eye finally met hers before speaking: "I know."

And she did. He was never good at hiding his true feelings, and she'd known from his confession this morning. Yet somehow, the fact that he'd actually _said_ it made something of a difference.

But it did not change what he'd done.

She said nothing more, and turned around, heading into her room.

* * *

Metal feet clanked and tapped against the metal floor as they stepped into the dim chamber. She did not face them.

" _Blue, say you did most of the work in a test chamber…_ "

The robot straightened—

"… _for once._ "

—and promptly deflated. His companion giggled.

" _Then say that Orange went through and took the edgeless safety cubes out of the edgeless safety cube receptacles and threw them into the acid, cleaned off the propulsion gel, and set up an army of turrets in its original position. How would you feel about that?_ "

Blue gave a warble of surprise, then turned to his companion, glaring and rattling off an angry stream of apparent gibberish. Orange gave a few warbles of protest, and cried out when she was struck in the side, head spinning from the impact. In retaliation, she swung a three-fingered fist at the other's head, knocking it clean out of its frame. The fight continued in a similar fashion, clangs and warbles resounding throughout the chamber.

" _That's what I thought._ "

She turned to face them, finding them frozen in a bizarre position: Blue's frame holding Orange in the air by her leg, and Orange, in turn, holding Blue's head. After a moment, they scrambled back to their original positions, Blue setting Orange down and Orange placing Blue's head in its respective place. They both gazed upward to stare at her, Blue stealing a quick punch at Orange's side, and Orange stepping on Blue's foot, neither looking away.

" _So you can understand my…_ disappointment… _when someone goes and starts to undo all the hard work I did on one of my tests…_ " She lowered her head, bringing it closer to the two robots. "… _Don't you._ "

They nodded rapidly.

" _Good._ "

Without warning, two claws darted out of the shadows and jabbed cables into the two robots' sides. Immediately they ran around, squawking in panic, until the cables went taut and made them fall flat on their optics. There was a faint beep, and the claws removed the cables.

" _I've just uploaded some coordinates to your systems_ ," she said as they struggled to their feet, giving confused warbles. " _I have some instructions for you for a very_ special _mission._ "

Blue and Orange stood, and flinched upon finding her optic inches from their own.

" _Do_ not _fail me._ "


	5. Names

So he'd said it.

After all those years of drifting in space, rehearsing the same words over and over and over again, he'd finally apologized to the lady. He'd spilled his heart—or, processor, or… whatever his equivalent would be—out to her. For so long he'd been waiting to do that, to say those two words, with maybe two or ten or fifty or more words for emphasis, and now he'd finally done it.

But… it didn't give him the satisfied feeling he'd hoped it would. It didn't give him a release from his guilt. Though he twitched and shuddered at the comparison, it reminded him of when he'd been hoping for another dose of testing euphoria and not getting it, no matter how many tests he ran her through. The difference was, he knew what the problem was this time:

The lady had not forgiven him.

Wheatley stared down at the table in front of him, at the blue light that bounced off the smooth surface. He couldn't wonder what he'd done wrong—he already knew. He'd betrayed her, crushed her hopes, hurt her, tried to kill her… A better question might be, what _hadn't_ he done wrong?

"Well… I… helped her a bit, didn't I?" he mumbled lamely. "Woke her out of cryosleep, led her to the portal gun, busted her out of that chamber… That's something, isn't it?" _Twitch, spark_. "Maybe j-just enough to warrant th-these repairs."

The core tilted one way, then the other, still getting a feeling for his condition. His innards were still pretty busted up, but there was a bit less of that sharp pain that would flare every time he sparked or moved just the wrong way. He'd forgotten what it had been like to _not_ feel that horrible pain shooting through his frame, but to have that pain lessened was more than he could ask for.

"M-maybe she'll keep repairing me," he said, glancing around and trying to see the door to her room. "Th-that'd be nice—i-if she could just trust me more." Not an easy thing to do after what he'd done, he had to admit, but… there had to be _some_ way to earn her trust. He just wasn't sure what that was yet.

A sharp howling noise startled Wheatley out of his thoughts and made him yelp in surprise. Straining to move his optic, he could barely see the window nearby. That was where the sound was coming from—just outside. It was accompanied by a rustle from the trees, and it sounded familiar… Wind? Yes, that was it. It reminded him of the rush of air around him those times when he'd been sucked through a vent—the first time when he was with the lady, and the second time when GLaDOS—

His optic contracted, and he looked around frantically. For a few blissful hours, he'd forgotten about _her_ , but now her threats were yanked to the forefront of his processor. What about _her_? He hoped he'd been hallucinating hearing her voice, but it always seemed so real… "Sh-she can't be here, though," he stammered, shutting his eye shields. "She's not. I-I'm not _there_ anymore. B-but that voice—"

He opened his optic again, fearing he might find himself in that _chamber_ again, or seeing that enormous chassis, but he could hardly see anything in the darkness. How did he know he wasn't back there? Or if he really wasn't… how did he know he wasn't actually hearing _her_ voice, somehow? That she wasn't really watching him? That she didn't really have some way she could attack him, even when he was away from the facility?

He hadn't worried about these things so much before, through the long nights he'd sat on the lady's dining room table, but… he'd been going numb then, or hallucinating. It was a relief to not be going completely numb to everything, but without that to distract him…

"N-no, she's not here," he said, trying to sound firm. "She's not here, she's not here, and—and I'm not _there_. Right. Clearly. Can easily see th—well, no, I can't…" Twitching, he searched his processor for the command to turn on his flashlight, but still found it disabled—and even then, how did he know _she_ hadn't broken it, when—

_KSSSSHHHK_

He froze up, optic dim and processor blank, though it occasionally flickered back to a _dark chamber, several mechanical arms in his view, lit from above by a yellow light_ —

The memory faded, and his frame loosened. "O… okay, d-don't think a-about that… wh-whatever it was…" Twitch, spark. "I-it'd be nice t-to forget all of that, i-if I'm honest. S-still…" His vocal processor simulated a gulping noise, and he forced his optic to shine brighter, attempting to pierce through the darkness. "I-it'd be nice t-to see in… here…"

As much as he tried to convince himself that yes, he was in the lady's house, and no, GLaDOS was nowhere nearby, he couldn't stop himself from shivering and wishing intensely that he could just _see_. Just to see—to make sure he was still there, that _she_ was still gone, and the lady hadn't left him. Maybe he could ask her—

"No, i-isn't she in sleep mode—er, asleep, now?" He shook himself; he'd been thinking about his own disabled programs too much. "But… it wouldn't hurt to just w-wake her up _once_ , right?"

Wheatley glanced around, staring in the direction he hoped her room was in. He took a useless, simulated breath, but the word only came out in a quiet stammer: "L-lady?"

Predictably, no response.

"R-right. Should've—should've expected that. Um…" He glanced around again before raising his voice. "L—lady?"

He thought he might have heard some noise in her room, but still no real response. "All right, d-doubling the efforts, then." A bit louder. "Lady, c-could—could you say something? S-some sort of—of response, please? Er—j-just giving a suggestion, you know! Th—though it's a good suggestion, I think…"

A few more noises. "A-all right, just another suggestion—c-could you just… answer me? Please? Lady? If—if you're there?"

_THUD_.

Well, that was something. It sounded like something hitting the wall, actually, which was a better response than the others he'd gotten this far. He raised his voice again. "Okay, th-that's—that's a little better, but s-still not quite there. D-do—do you think you c-could s-say something? Lady? Please?" The wind howled outside again, making him shudder and spark, and causing his voice to go up a pitch. "Y-you know, it's really—really dark in here, lady, a-and—and could you j-just—"

The door creaked as it opened, and as the lady stepped out and approached him, he was able to make out her face. He couldn't help but notice that she looked just a _bit_ annoyed.

…Oh, right, humans didn't particularly like being woken up during sleep cycles, did they?

_Twitch_.

"Um. Hello!" _Twitch_. "It's—uh—j-just a bit dark out here, and, er—I… d-don't like the dark, and—uh—j-just a bit w-worried that I'm… n-not actually here, a-and that _she_ might be—"

He began to feel the stupidity that had been programmed into him. It was not a pleasant feeling.

_Twitch_.

She stared for a moment and began to walk away. "…R-right. S-so if you could, uh—"

His optic contracted as the room flooded with light, showing that yes, he was still in the lady's house. "Oh," he said quietly, wincing when he saw her roll her eyes. "Th—thanks."

She stepped back into her room and shut the door.

"W-well… that's better, at least." He glanced around the room, blinking a few times as his optic adjusted. The kitchen was in one spot, the living room in another—though that was a bit further out of his sight—and the window was beside him. Yes, he was definitely still in the lady's house. "N-nice to know I-I'm… still here.

"…Now what?"

With a sinking feeling, Wheatley realized he now had the rest of the night ahead of him, and absolutely nothing to do. No management rail to ride on, no-one to talk to… nothing to do, unless he wanted to plunge into numbness or fall into a hallucination again.

His upper lid drooped. "…Bloody lack of s-sleep mode."

* * *

His optic had gone dull by the morning, with his having nothing to do but talk to himself and think—but mostly talk to himself. When the door opened and the lady stepped out, however, his optic brightened. "H-hello," he said, aiming for cheerfulness but not quite getting there.

The lady nodded a greeting, but said nothing as she walked about the house, getting ready for her day.

"…Oh. Y-you're—you're still mad at me, right," Wheatley mumbled. "S-sorry about waking you up like that." _Twitch._ "B-but thanks for t-turning on the light. You have n-no idea how frightening it c-can get without a flashlight! …N-not that I'm easily frightened."

Much to his surprise, he swore he saw her mouth twitch, as though she were fighting a smile or a laugh.

"Y-you think that's funny, then?" he grumbled, and regretted it when she turned her back to him. "Er—no! I-it's all right, laugh at me a-all you want, I don't care." He glanced aside, feeling the guilt creep up on him again. "I-I guess I really haven't got a right t-to tell you wh-what to do, n-not after what _I_ did." Suddenly he looked up, optic brightening a fraction, though he looked no less guilty. "And I _am_ sorry about that, r-really, a-about what I did way b-back then, b-betraying you a-and all that… Bloody rotten of me. I-I know how much I h-hurt you, 'cause of what I saw you do—wh-what I thought I saw… B-but for you, y-you weren't seeing things. I-I wish you were. Er—n-not that I want you seein' things like I am, b-but I-I wish I hadn't actually gone and d-done all that, and… I'm sorry."

He couldn't be sure she'd heard him, what with her cooking and eating and washing and never turning to glance at him. She did pause when he finished, staring down into the soapy water in the sink, but still never said anything.

Tilting in his casing, he glanced downward. "I—I'd t-take it all back, i-if I could. If… if w-we ever got back t-to that time, wh-when you plugged me in, a-and there was the core t-transfer… I-I would just let you go. I-I'd never do th-that again—b-betraying you, a-and all." The confession made his mind drift back to that time again—how he tested her, and yelled at her, and tried to kill her—he snapped his optic shut. "I-I wish it hadn't happened at all. None of it."

Something touched his side, and he twitched and sparked, opening his eye shields. The lady was staring down at him, though she didn't look so angry now.

"…I'm sorry," he added quietly. He couldn't say it enough.

Her voice was soft: "I know."

And with that, she finally strode out of the house.

Wheatley sat there for a while after the door closed, not saying anything. He twitched once, twice, scattering sparks, and his optic quivered.

" _Wh-what am I doing wrong_?!" he cried, snapping his handle against his frame and shutting his optic. "I-is there some—some _guide_ to apologies?" His processor skimmed his reference files—he had a few on humans, though the files were mostly corrupt and useless. Even then, there was nothing in there about apologies.

"I-If she knows I'm s-so bloody sorry, wh-why can't she—?" He opened his optic, which had grown dull again. "No, wh-what I did was bloody h-horrible. No, 'horrible' d-doesn't begin to describe it. Worse th-than horrible. I-I don't deserve t-to be forgiven."

He heaved an electronic sigh. "…B-but it'd sure be nice, though."

Wheatley's processor wandered, going back to when he'd woken her up all those years ago. True, he hadn't quite cared for her then—she was just another human he could use to help him escape. But then, she'd actually followed his instructions, and they'd almost gotten out together… and he knew she was different. A little brain-damaged, maybe, but still different. Clever. Smart. Even if she hadn't caught him.

_Twitch_.

But even then—he got her away from GLaDOS, hadn't he? And—and they'd messed up the turret production lines, and her neurotoxin… and it was actually _fun_. Not easy, but it was _fun_ working with her, working together to shut down that crazy AI. Probably the most fun he'd had… well, ever.

There wasn't much fun in being tested on endlessly, answering questions, being tweaked and repaired—though he couldn't remember much of that time, other than that he didn't like it or his engineers. Then there was that fuzzy, near-blank spot in his memory—but he'd found out what _that_ was, after _she_ had so kindly reminded him. And then came the jobs—how many, he couldn't even remember anymore. A lot. And a lot of other cores, none of which he really got along with. And then there was his job at the extended relaxation center… and… back to the lady.

Yes. The best time he'd had was when he was with her.

And he blew it.

A twitch, spark, and shudder brought Wheatley back to the present. He didn't want to keep thinking about the core transfer and beyond. He was tired of that weight of guilt—it wasn't doing him any good. He wanted the lady's forgiveness… or, at the very least, her presence.

"Wh-why's she have to l-leave for so long?" he mumbled, straining his optic to look toward the door. He wasn't turned far enough to see it, though, and he didn't want to risk hurting himself by trying to flip over in his casing. Instead, he glanced over to the window, at the trees and the sky outside, and wondered when the lady would come back. He was never really sure—he would usually crash or hallucinate or something during the day, so his sense of time passing was rather skewed. All he knew was that she was always gone for a long while.

A sudden fear seized him—what if… what if _she_ came back while the lady was gone? A shudder wracked his casing. "N-no, no, _she_ can't c-come back, b-because she's not actually there." His vocal processor simulated a gulp. "R-right. Th-the lady said I was safe. S-so, I am. She hasn't actually b-been _here_ th-those other times—" unless he was hallucinating now, but _no don't think about that, don't think about that_ "—s-so maybe she w-won't be there this time." He nodded. "Y-yeah, th-that sounds about right. Not here. Nope. Sh-she's not here. A-and the lady will be back soon. I hope. …I-I really, really hope."

Wheatley closed his optic for a moment before glancing out the window again. It looked a little brighter out there—the sky was blue rather than gray, for once. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it meant the lady was closer to coming back. Maybe it meant—

" _Hello, moron_."

He yelped, freezing up. Slowly he curled his handle over his body, optic contracting. "Sh-she's not there, sh-she's not there, she's not there..."

" _If you're talking about the lunatic, you're right. She's not here. She's miles and miles away. Meanwhile, you're still here with me, as you always have been, and always will be._ "

"N-no, the lady said I was s-safe…" He shut his optic, shivering.

" _You still think that?_ "

"I—" Wheatley paused. He opened his optic again, but kept his eye shields narrow, trying to look as determined as possible. "I-I _know_ that."

The quiet laughter shattered his confidence.

" _Go on thinking that for as long as you like. You can do that to pass the time while you wait_."

"W-wait?" He blinked, optic darting around. Wait—was there something outside? He thought he saw—

" _Yes. I have a surprise for you._ "

"A s-surprise?" His voice went up a pitch. "Wh- _what_ surprise?"

Laughter.

He shivered for a moment, optic straining to see out the window. "Wh-what surprise a-are you talking about?"

But the laughter had stopped, and he could see nothing of note out the window, leaving him to wonder if he'd actually seen—or heard—anything at all. But if he had…

"Wh-what surprise?" he repeated to no-one. "Wh-what...?"

He sat in that cold house, his pinprick optic darting around as he waited for either the voice or the lady to return—and wished desperately for the latter.

* * *

The air smelled of snow. It wasn't there yet, but Chell could sense it coming; five years out in the Upper Peninsula had trained her to recognize just when winter was beginning to rear its head. She would have to start dressing warmer and stocking more food to prevent having to go to the market so often. And, of course, she would also have to prepare carefully for the next few monthly treks, when she would be marching through the snow.

And as she worked, her mind drifted, thinking about what she might find on her next trek. If she'd found Wheatley last time, what would she find next? Come to think of it, why _was_ Wheatley left outside of the facility in the first place, when he had been in space before? It was something she hadn't considered before, not having really cared about the metal sphere or what had happened to him, but now it was bothering her.

Obviously he had been through a lot, given the state he was in and the way he responded to things. But she'd never really asked him for specifics—had GLaDOS left him sitting out there, hoping to lure her back? Was he supposed to accomplish some purpose, or had the mad AI simply left him out there to die?

Whatever the case, she still had several weeks before she would have to return—and it would give her time to find a few other supplies to take, just in case something else awaited her in that dying wheat field. But until then…

Her thoughts turned back to the metal sphere. He'd apologized several times already, and each time he seemed to express genuine remorse—but each time, she'd reminded herself just what he had done to her, and why he had to apologize in the first place. But at the same time, he'd spent however long in the vacuum of space, and then however long back _there_ , having who-knows-what done to him. He'd already paid for what he'd done.

And every day, she was finding herself relating to him more and more. They'd both experienced the worst Aperture could dish out.

Then there was another fact—one that she hated to admit, but… she was almost looking forward to seeing him when she went home from work. She'd never gotten along with her co-workers, or anyone else she'd tried talking to—though part of that was from her quiet nature. She'd never talked back _there_ , and even now found herself loathe to speak. It didn't help that people so rarely listened to her when she _did_ say something.

But _he_ did. When she spoke, he would always react with a sort of stunned awe. Her voice, so ineffective out here, somehow had the power to pull him from whatever horrors his processor conjured up.

Then when her boss and co-workers were unappreciative of her hard work, Wheatley was actually growing thankful for her repairs. The AI that had been programmed to be a moron was more grateful than the humans she'd known out in this cold world.

Not that Wheatley was always the best thing to have around. He was still an idiot; the repairs were tedious; his panic from paranoia and hallucinations were waking her up at night…

Yet there was something about him that kept her going back to help him. And she realized—in spite of all she had thought before, maybe she really _was_ finding something in that broken hunk of metal that was worth forgiving.

She laughed suddenly, her warm breath briefly fogging her vision.

Maybe she _was_ brain-damaged.

* * *

It was some hours later that the door opened with a _creak_ , and Wheatley started so badly that he knocked himself to his side. "Ow…"

Glancing around frantically, he spotted the lady approaching him, and his optic shone brighter. " _Lady_ …!"

The lady grabbed his handle and set him upright, looking him over. While she didn't speak up, her expression was clear: _Are you all right?_

Cringing, he glanced away. He hadn't really been hurt while she was gone, but… "D—do you have to l-leave every day l-like that?"

She gave him a funny look before nodding. "I have a job," she said, as though it were obvious.

"O-oh." He blinked. He hadn't heard of a human's working since the days of the scientists and engineers back in Aperture. After that, he'd only ever seen machines and robots working. "Y—you humans still do that?"

At that, she rolled her eyes and moved away, heading into the kitchen.

"Oh—! I-I'm sorry I-I didn't mean…! I-it's just, I-I…" _Twitch_. "I-it's kind of… lonely here, a-and…" He lowered his voice, glancing away ashamedly. "I-it's r-rather scary to be a-alone. A-at least… h-here, wh-when I can hear— _her_."

Feeling her gaze on him, he glanced up. "H- _her_! I-I mean, y-you know who—sh-she... she's planning something! I-I don't want to f-find out what it is…!"

The lady frowned, but continued to prepare her food.

"P-please, c-can't you just s-stay?" His optic contracted as he gave her a desperate look. "J-just for tomorrow? I-in case she's p-planning something?"

He heard her heave a sigh, and then: "She's not here."

Wheatley twitched. "I-I know she's not—n-not right now, b-but she was…! I-I heard her, a-and she's p-planning something! I know she is! C-can't you listen to me? I-I really did hear her! Y-you have to—"

"Wheatley."

His eye aperture contracted to a pinprick, his handle hung limp, and his speech processor glitched to silence.

Her voice was not angry, exasperated, or even annoyed. Her gaze was turned on him, and she had a look in her eye—a look that was almost…

…understanding.

"GLaDOS is not going to come back."

Wheatley couldn't speak. He couldn't even emit a burst of surprised static. All he could do was stare at her in shock, and she stared right back. Eventually their gaze broke when she turned around to continue cooking, but he couldn't help continuing to stare.

For once, he had no idea what to say.

She went on with her dinner, and ate at the table with him sitting there. Every once in a while she would glance up at him, but neither of them spoke.

After a while, he found he wanted to speak—to express his worries to her about GLaDOS, to tell her about his anxiety and loneliness—but something held him back. Her words had been so firm, and there was a strength in them that he couldn't comprehend. They'd both been through a lot, but the fact that she had actually said _that_ name, and said it without a trace of fear—

The lady stood up, placed her dishes in the sink, and returned to the table. She gazed into his optic, and tapped him on the right side.

Oh. It was time for _that_ again. "I-I…" he started, finally finding his voice, "D-do we h-have to do this?"

She nodded.

"…All right." His optic and handle went limp in resignation. "G-go ahead, then."

Gently she grabbed his handle and set him on his left side. This was different—but maybe she'd already repaired all the wires on that side? She peered into his side before leaving to retrieve her tools.

Wheatley shut his optic. He hated— _hated_ that she had to work on his wires, but everything had felt a lot better after the repairs yesterday. He just hoped she wouldn't have any slip-ups again, and that maybe it wouldn't hurt so badly this time…

He heard the light click on behind his optic, and drew a simulated breath. "J-just… get it over with," he mumbled.

There was a lapse where he didn't hear or feel anything, and suddenly there was a sharp pain as he felt her grab a wire, making him spark and shudder.

"Stay still."

He flinched, opening his optic a little. "I-it's not that easy, y-you know? Y-you try staying still a-and not fidgeting around wh-when someone's messin' with your insides…!" But he complied, letting his optic and handle go limp again, and trying to force himself to not twitch or spark. He couldn't help giving a sharp gasp when she grabbed his wires again and began to twist them back together. His casing shook, and he fought the temptation to strain his optic to watch her.

He recalled that one of the ways humans responded to pain was to leak clear fluid from their eyes, and figured that's probably what he would be doing now if he could leak anything.

She had no idea, he knew, how much it hurt, but even if she did, there was probably nothing she could do to lessen his pain… other than putting him into sleep mode. Which was still disabled.

He shut his optic again and tried to bear it, forcing his mind away from the current situation. But all he could think about was what he'd heard earlier—what he'd heard _her_ say. It was scary, but at least it didn't hurt, so he focused his processor on that until he began to ramble.

"I-I r-really did hear _her_ ," Wheatley said, keeping his optic shut, but failing to keep his voice steady. "Sh-she said she had a—a surprise, and—and you know her. No s-surprise is ever good w-with _her_." _Twitch_. He felt the lady pull away from him for a moment before going back to work, and the sharp, burning pain resumed. He quickly went back to rambling. "I-I really d-don't want to know wh-what it is… I-I hope you were right, a-about her n-not coming back, b-because I-I really don't w-want to see _her_ again, e-ever…e-ev… er…"

But he _was_ seeing something—but he'd shut his optic, hadn't he? But he was seeing _something_ — _a dark chamber, arms, claws, a yellow light, and something was pulling on his wires—_

"Are you still there is that you oh no no _no_ please tell me that's you and not _her_ please stop please stop _please_ —!"

Wheatley felt the lady's grip on his handle, and he was back in the house. The grip tightened, and he felt that simulated comfort that had been programmed into him—along with a real comfort of knowing she was there. His voice went up a pitch, though the gratefulness still shone through. "Th-thanks…"

The repairs resumed, and he shut his optic again, trying to shut out the pain. "I-I hope you're almost d-done, back there… are you?"

"Almost."

He tried to relax. "R-right. Almost. J-just—just a few more wires, then, j-just a few more…" He shuddered as he felt her apply the hot solder to another broken wire, sealing the two ends together. It hurt, but she said they were almost done. Almost done… almost…

And she sat him upright.

Wheatley opened his optic, blinking a few times as the burning pain slowly faded. He tilted one way in his casing, then another, back and forth. The poles and gears still grinded and squeaked, and the movement was not as easy as he would have liked, but he did not feel that sharp, burning pain. The only wires that remained severed were the ones where his lower handle used to be, but the rest were repaired.

"Oh… oh, man alive…!" He tilted himself back and forth, nearly knocking himself over. After a while, he actually did. But somehow he didn't care, and for once he found himself laughing. "Th-this feels amazing! It d-doesn't hurt! I-I mean, my casing d-does, a-and some of my other insides—b-but th-the wires don't hurt!" He laughed again, and after a moment, realized he was smiling. "Y-you fixed it! Th-thanks—thank you…!"

When Wheatley felt the lady set him upright, he smiled up at her, and for a moment, it looked like she was about to smile back—but then her expression turned serious. She wasn't staring him in the eye this time, but there was something about her that made him feel uneasy—like something she wasn't telling him. His smile faded, and so did the brightness in his optic. "Wh—what is it?"

She blinked, seeming to start out of her thoughts, and turned to look at the table. He thought she was just avoiding his gaze until he realized that she was actually looking at something—the dirt on the table. "Oh. …Wh-where did _that_ come from?"

But then he remembered sitting in the dirt and leaf piles, back when she'd first brought him here; he'd never really gotten all the dirt off of him. Apparently she didn't like the dirt sitting around on her table, but that meant— "Oh, no. Y-you're not—!"

The lady's expression softened into an amused look, but somehow this was not comforting. He watched anxiously as she returned to the kitchen, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it in water.

"A-ah, you don't n-need to do that! W-we cores can operate j- _just_ fine w-with a little dirt in our s-systems. N-not a problem! Not a p-problem at all." He gave a nervous grin, but even that faded as he saw her wring the cloth into the sink and bring it over to him. "D… do you r- _really_ have to do this?"

She nodded, and pressed the damp cloth against his side.

Wheatley shuddered, making a disgusted sound. He'd never really felt anything like that before, and found it was not pleasant in the slightest. As she rubbed the cloth against his casing, a thought occurred to him. "Wh-what if I sh-short-circuit?!" he exclaimed, cringing. "Th-that'd be the _end_ of me, lady!"

But she only shook her head, and he swore he heard her give a quiet laugh. She was careful not to get the cloth into his innards, instead carefully cleaning the outside of his casing. She cleaned his panels, avoiding any ports he had, and scrubbed the dirt out of his cracks and scars. A few times she had to return to the sink to wash the dirt out of the cloth before continuing, and throughout all this, the core begrudgingly admitted to himself that it was making him feel a little better.

The damp cloth washed away not only the dirt he'd acquired from his trip to her house, but also the dirt and dust that had come from the facility so long ago. While he couldn't see it, he could feel it, and was surprised at how nice it felt to actually be clean.

When the lady moved on to clean his handle, he began to tremble—and, to the both of their surprise, _giggle_. "Th-that tickles," he admitted, embarrassed, but unable to stop laughing. By some miracle he managed to keep still enough for her to finish cleaning, and his giggles subsided. He figured by then she was done—until he felt the cloth against his face.

Wheatley froze up, optic contracting as he watched her. Carefully the lady scrubbed into the scratches on one side of his face and the deep scar on the other, and as she moved closer to his optic, he closed his eye shields. "Uh—" he stammered, suddenly feeling the cloth scrubbing against those. She was even more careful as she worked there, getting the grit out of the two scars that crossed over his metal eyelids. He kept his optic shut, even when he felt her stop, and waited until he was certain she was done before opening his optic again.

"W-well, that was— _AAAGH_!"

Without warning, the lady carefully rubbed the surface of his optic. She did this quickly, then rubbed over his optic again with a dry spot on the cloth. As soon as she pulled away, he blinked rapidly, aperture contracting and dilating back and forth a few times as his optic adjusted itself.

"R- _really_ , lady, was that—wait, everything's clearer!" He blinked again, squinting his eye as he looked around, and his optic brightened at the confirmation—yes, he could see better. Granted, his vision was still split, but still! "Th-thanks!"

The lady nodded, using the cloth to wipe up the dirt on the table, and gave him a curious look.

"Yeah, I f-feel better… th-thanks again. G-gotta admit, though, cleaning's not the most— _pleasant_ experience, b-but I do f-feel a lot better, yeah." He turned in his casing again, giving a pleased smile. "Guess w-we're done for tonight, then?"

She nodded again, setting the cloth aside and turning to examine him again. But then that one strange look came back—the one that he couldn't quite place. After looking him over, she reached out to touch his casing.

Wheatley was slowly getting used to the feeling, and didn't flinch this time. Her hand traveled along his right side until it came to a certain spot—and _then_ he shuddered as she traced the welded scar. She noticed this, and gave him a questioning look.

His optic contracted. "N-no, it's—it's n-nothing," he stammered. "R-really, nothing happened, th-there." But when she gave him another look, he shook his face, shivering. "No—p-please… d-don't make me go back _there_."

Finally the lady pulled her hand away, nodding.

They stared at each other before a moment, and as always, Wheatley was the first to speak up. "Y-you… you'll keep me safe, right?"

She didn't hesitate. "Yes."

And once again, Wheatley could feel the strength behind her voice. He allowed himself to relax, his upper eye shield drooping. "Th-thanks… Means a l-lot to me," he said quietly.

The lady nodded and gathered up her things to put them away. Once that was done, she stopped by the table for a moment and looked toward her room. She seemed to contemplate something before giving a start, as though struck by an idea, and instead turned to head toward the front door.

"Lady?" Wheatley asked, blinking as he tried to follow her with his optic. Soon she was out of sight, and he could hear the door open and shut. "W-wait! Lady! Wh-where'd you go…?!"

* * *

Chell was only outside for less than a minute, but when she stepped through the door, she sighed at hearing the core's distressed cries.

"C-come back! A-are you back now? W-was that you coming th-through the door?"

She probably could have said something to reassure him, but he'd be able to see in a moment. Hoisting up the burden she carried in her arms, she kicked the door shut and marched into the living room, finally setting the stuff—a few logs of firewood—next to her fireplace. She stooped down to open the grate, and tossed the logs in.

"Wh-what's all that? What're you d-doing?" Wheatley called from his lonely spot on the table. At this angle he probably couldn't see what she was doing very well, but that would change in a moment. She ignored him for now, heading into her storage room to grab a box of matches, and returned to crouch down by the fireplace. She retrieved a match, struck it, and tossed it over the firewood. When it didn't light, she tried another one, and nodded in satisfaction when the fire was lit.

"Wh-what's—AAAGH! Th-there's a fire! Run for it, mate!"

Chell shut the grate with one hand and rubbed her forehead with the other. Rising, she walked into the core's line of sight and waved a dismissive hand before heading into her room to retrieve a book.

Though she owned a TV, she didn't watch it much, preferring to read instead. It was something she enjoyed doing every night after dinner, though she'd been reading in the living room until Wheatley came along. Since then, she'd been reading in her room, preferring to stay away from him. But on such a cold night, she felt it might be nice to sit and read by the fire.

And maybe it would calm Wheatley down. While he had few frayed wires left, he still seemed to have quite a few frayed nerves.

Striding back into the dining room and ignoring the core's frantic questions, she grabbed his handle with one hand and hoisted him off the table. She carried him over to the living room area, but stopped when she heard him emit a whimper.

"A—are you g-going to throw me i-in the fire?" he asked, pupil small and frame shuddering.

Chell tilted her head downward and lightly smacked it with the book she carried. "No."

"…O-oh." She heard the _plink_ , _plink_ of his blinking. "Th-then what is it, exactly, y-you're d-doing…?"

She was starting to wonder that herself, given how well the core was responding to it. With a sigh, she set him down on one end of the couch, and sat down on the other, kicking off her boots and settling against a pillow.

"Oh, th-this is… odd," Wheatley said. She glanced up, noting that he'd sunk into the cushion a bit from his weight, and the pillow next to him had tipped onto his side. It didn't appear to be hurting him, though, so she left him like that. "Is th-this what those beds in the extended r-relaxation center felt l-like?"

No, they felt like cheap motel beds. But he probably didn't know what that meant, so she just shrugged and opened her book.

The fire gradually grew brighter, flickering and filling the room with a warm, pleasant light. Chell was relieved to find that Wheatley was not panicking now, and even she was feeling a bit more relaxed. She turned to look out the nearest window, noting that the first snow of winter was finally starting.

"I-I guess, uh, f-fires aren't so bad, i-if you've got 'em b-boxed up like that..." he mumbled. Apparently whatever had happened to him had not involved the incinerator, since he wasn't yelling or dropping off into hallucinations at the moment. She hoped it would stay that way. "Must make things p-pretty warm f-for you humans… er, I-I think? Er—oh, a-are you reading?"

She wasn't, but nodded anyway, staring intently at her book.

"Oh. W-well, I'll just uh, s-speak… quieter then, yes." He resumed his ramble at a lower volume.

Chell glanced up briefly to make sure he wasn't staring at her, and turned her gaze completely on him, looking over his mangled form. She looked at the remaining frayed wires—the ones that stuck out where his lower handle should have been—and at all the dents in his casing. She tried to peer into his side, despite the poor lighting, and could barely see the broken poles inside. When he turned to look back at her, she quickly looked back at her book, frowning.

The truth was, she had no idea where to go from here.

She was not an engineer. She'd picked up a few odd skills from the different jobs she'd worked, but otherwise? She didn't know how to fix his broken mechanics, or even how to open his shell to get to the things. She didn't know how to fix the dents in his hull or the cracks in his casing—and even if she did, she probably didn't have the tools for it. Then there was his missing handle—how was she to replace _that_?

…But then, she'd never even set out to fully repair him. Chell could still remember what she'd determined to do, the day she dragged him away from that wheat field: give him a few repairs, and see if he was worth forgiving.

She'd fixed his vocal processor. She'd fixed his wiring. She'd cleaned his casing. Those were a few repairs. Those were what she had set out to do, and she'd done it. She hadn't completely forgiven him yet, but—

"Lady!"

Chell blinked, turning to face the core, and stared.

"I-I—did you s-see that? I-I'm not sparking! Th-that bloody annoying t-twitch is gone! You m-must've fixed it when y-you repaired th-those wires!"

But that new revelation wasn't what had her staring—it was the fact that his optic was back to its original brilliant blue.

"Wh-what?" he asked, and the blue faded a little. "I-is something wrong?"

Yes. No. She shook her head, glancing down at the book.

"Oh. W-well… I w-was thinking…"

She let him ramble, and stared blankly at the pages in front of her. While he still retained that stutter, he was starting to sound more like his old self. But there was the fact that he was still very broken physically and… probably still very broken otherwise. There was nothing threatening around here now, but she got the feeling that if she reached out to him again and touched a scar, or asked him what had happened, or went to fix some other part of him, that would quickly change. She expected he would probably start seeing things in the middle of the night again and wake her up with his worried calls.

But then…

Part of her enjoyed just sitting here, listening to him talk about nothing. Back _there_ , he was the first friendly voice she'd heard in years, and the same held true for the present. And, deep down, she felt a longing just to have someone who cared about her, and that she in turn would care for—someone she could listen to, and, on the rare occasions when she spoke, would listen to her.

Someone who could be a friend.

"So… d-d'you think you could?"

Chell looked up at him. He blinked, then glanced away.

"Oh. E-er, I mean… i-it's just a _suggestion_..." There was the "suggestion" thing again—why did he have to clarify? "Just… th-thought I'd s-suggest that… y-you might f-fix my s-sleep mode…? O-or my f-flashlight? One of the t-two might b-be nice…"

She nodded, though she had no idea how to fix either.

Wheatley's optic brightened again, and his lower eye shield pulled up in a smile. "Th-thanks...! Th-that would b-be tremendous." And he rambled on, going on about how great sleep mode could be and how handy having a flashlight was.

Chell set her book aside, just listening to the core talk. She wasn't going to get any reading done tonight, but that was fine by her. Maybe if she kept listening, she might have more pleasant dreams.

* * *

For once, the night didn't feel so lonely.

Even though the lady had gone to bed, Wheatley didn't feel so bad about staying out here by himself. It had been wonderful to just sit there and talk with her—even if she never really talked back—and not think about the state he was in or what had happened before. Even though he wasn't on his management rail and they weren't traveling through the facility, it still gave him pleasant memories of old times.

True, she still hadn't really forgiven him yet, but that was the key word— _yet_. She'd seemed content to just sit by him and listen to him talk, and she hadn't gotten mad at him, so clearly he was doing something right for once. And after making mistake after mistake all his life, it felt _good_ to do something right.

It also felt good to sit somewhere other than that cold dining room table. Not that he was really bothered by temperature, unless things got far too hot, but there was something about sitting here that brought a comfortable warmth to his frame. Even though it was a little odd to sit on something soft—he was used to the metal surfaces all around Aperture.

Wheatley lifted his handle, pushing against the pillow that was still tipped against his side. "No, d-definitely not used to th-this," he mumbled. "Not bad, th-though." Anything was better than sitting on that table, or lying in that chamb— _no don't think about that_.

He shuddered, but settled into the cushion, allowing his optic to go limp. It was hard keeping it up and moving it around all the time, with parts of his innards still broken… but it wouldn't be like that for long! He laughed a little, tilting back and forth as he enjoyed the lack of pain in his wires and the absence of that painful twitch. "Man alive, i-if it feels th- _this_ much better with j-just the wires repaired, then…" He closed his optic.

He still hurt, of course, but now he didn't feel so bad about it. The hurt was not going to stay. The damage was not going to stay. The lady was going to forgive him soon. And that little spark of hope he'd felt before had grown to engulf him completely.

Everything was going to be all right.

* * *

Morning came more quickly than Wheatley had expected—not that he was complaining. "H-hello!" he called, seeing the lady come out of her room. She nodded to him in greeting, but in what seemed like a more friendly way than before, and headed into the kitchen.

He turned his optic to try to see her, but she'd gone out of his view. "O-oh, I guess there is a d-disadvantage to s-sitting here," he said, tilting his optic. "D-do you think you could m-move the kitchen?"

No response.

"…Okay, n-new plan. Move th-the couch—yeah, th-that might be a better idea—uh, suggestion."

Still no response, and Wheatley was about to suggest that she just try making breakfast in the living room when he felt her grab his handle and hoist him into the air. He cried out in surprise, but blinked when she set him back on the table. "…Oh, yeah, th-that works too."

She gave him an amused look before going back to preparing her breakfast.

"Th-thanks again for fixin' me up a-and all," he said. He shut his optic and turned in his casing. "R-really, feels t-tremendous! D-doesn't hurt so m— _urk_!"

He froze, eye shields widening and pupil contracting to a pinprick when he realized part of his insides had caught on his dented casing. "U-uh… H-hang on, I've g-got this—" Shutting his optic, he concentrated on getting himself un-stuck, tugging against his broken innards until he broke free, sending a shock of pain throughout his body. " _Ow_ —!"

The lady turned, giving him a concerned look.

Wheatley's vocal processor simulated panting as his optic went limp. "Ow… Uh—j-just got s-stuck there f-for a sec," he said, feeling dazed. But he looked up, optic brightening a little. "B-but you'll be fixing that soon, s-so it's all right!"

She stared at him for a moment before her expression changed, but she turned around before he could figure out just what it was.

It made him a little nervous. "E-er, but if you d-don't want to f-fix that part—uh, y-you could fix my s-sleep mode, n-next? R-really handy thing, that. Then i-it won't be s-so bad when you leave a-and all." He lifted his lower eye shield in a slight smile, but it faded when she didn't respond. "…Or not? I-if you don't—"

"I'll try," she said, not turning around.

"Oh! Brilliant." Wheatley relaxed. "I-it'll be so nice having th-that back!"

He watched as the lady finished cooking and brought her breakfast to the table to eat. "I-I know you have to w-work, and all, b-but it does g-get—er—a b-bit lonely here. B-but if I can go into s-sleep mode, I-I won't have to think a-about that! W-won't think about anything, actually. S'all d-dreamless. And… th-thoughtless. Y-yes."

He watched as she ate, thinking about the things she'd said yesterday. It still amazed him that she'd had the courage to say _her_ name, and that she'd actually said _his_ name! But then…

Wheatley tilted a little in his casing. "D-do _you_ have a n-name?"

She looked up. If she was surprised, she hid it well.

"Oh. U-um, I-I guess I sh-should have asked that—um—a-a while ago, yes," he mumbled, glancing aside. "B-back when I f-found out y-you could talk, but… I-I hadn't th-thought of it, then. O-or before. Only knew you b-by your room name—A113. Th-that's—that's not your name, is—?"

"Chell."

He looked back at her, eye widening in realization. "Th-that's your name? Chell?"

She nodded.

"Chell," he repeated, tilting in his casing as he tried the name. "Chell, Chell, Chell... I-it's a _bit_ odd a-as far as human names go, isn't it?"

She rolled her eyes, standing up and retrieving her plate.

"Oh! S-sorry about—th-that was a bit insensitive. It's—it's a nice name! Y-yes, very nice. Chell, y-yes. Very nice." He watched as she put the plate in the sink and began gathering her things together. "L-leaving already…?"

Chell nodded.

Wheatley drooped. "W-well… s-see you tonight, then?"

She swung a bag over her shoulder, then grabbed him as she passed by the table. Before he could ask just what she was doing, she set him back on the couch where he'd been last night.

"Oh! Th-thanks," he said, turning to watch her as she headed toward the door. Just before she was out of his line of sight, he saw her turn and give a small wave before heading out.

The door shut, and he was alone.

The fact made him droop again, but he tried to look on the bright side. "W-well… Sh-she'll be back again tonight, and sh-she'll fix my sleep mode! S-so I can just shut down f-for a while next time." He heaved a sigh, but more of a contented one, tilting a little in his casing. This time he was more careful to not get himself stuck, but it was still a nice feeling. "Th-the lady—Chell—sh-she's been doing a b-brilliant job with these r-repairs! Man alive, i-it'll be so nice t-to not hurt anymore, and to n-not get stuck, a-and to move better, and to s-sleep, and to have a f-flashlight, and… and maybe I-I'll get my l-lower handle back! Oh… N-not gonna take my mechanisms for g-granted anymore, th-that's for sure."

Wheatley settled into the couch, though he grumbled a little when the pillow tipped over against his side again. Oh well. Everything was going better now, and soon he'd be back to normal!

He sat there, losing track of time as he thought about how great it would be to be fully repaired, and what would happen after that—maybe he could convince her to build him a management rail or something, so he could move around! And then he would talk to her every night, and maybe she could make one of those fires in that box in the wall again—that was pretty nice—and then maybe she would forgive him soon! And…

Wheatley blinked, slowly becoming aware of a faint tapping noise somewhere nearby. "Wh-what—"

" _Surprise_."

And the window shattered.


	6. Paths

Her boots kicked up the snow as she made her way home. Her hair, tied up in its usual ponytail, was a bit of a mess, and she walked with a weary step despite her efforts to conceal it—it had been a long day at work. She shivered; it was dark already, and her coat wasn't shielding her from the cold as much as she would have liked.

But despite all this, Chell found herself smiling just a little.

During the long hours at work, she'd been thinking back to Wheatley. She still wasn't sure how she could repair him fully, but she would try. She could do some research, buy the proper tools… It would be a lot of hard work, but she figured if she could actually do it, she might have something better to look forward to every day after work. Rather than a broken, frightened robot, she would have someone to talk to—or at least someone she could listen to.

She knew what she was going to do tonight—she would haul out her rarely-used laptop and maybe see if she could connect him to it. Then she could see about re-enabling his sleep mode. At the very least, it would keep him from waking her up at night.

The wind picked up, and she shuddered. It would be a lot of work, she knew. That wasn't exactly something she would look forward to. But at the same time, it would give her something to fill her free time with—something meaningful, unlike reading a book or watching TV.

Chell laughed a little. Of all things, she hadn't expected that little core would actually improve her mood. It was with that thought in mind that she returned to her house, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

And her mind went blank.

She did not immediately register what she was seeing. There was something wrong, but her senses were slow to accept it.

The first thing she noticed was that it was cold—much, much colder than it should have been. Wind was blowing through the house, causing the curtains to sway gently as flurries of snow danced around them. She stepped closer to get a better look, and simultaneously saw the broken window and heard the _crunch_ of glass beneath her boots. She looked down—glass shards, dirt, and snow littered the floor. The table was tipped. One of the chairs was broken.

But there was one other thing—something that she knew was so utterly _wrong_ , it made her stomach sink. Slowly she walked to the couch, and looked over the back.

Cotton fluff, a ruined pillow, tears in the cushion.

And Wheatley was gone.

Suddenly aware she was shaking, Chell turned around and noticed something she'd failed to see before: footprints. Her first thought was that someone had stolen the core, but a closer look proved that wrong. The footprints did not belong to a human—some were wide and rectangular, while others were small and gave the impression of two-toed feet.

Someone hadn't stolen Wheatley. Some _thing_ had.

It wasn't hard to figure out just what that something was.

And yet, she did not immediately act. Yes, she had been thinking about repairing him, but who was she kidding—that would take months, at _least_ , not to mention she could very well do something wrong and wind up breaking him even worse. And while she'd started to look forward to hearing him again, she knew that would change—over time, he would just become annoying. Did she really want to listen to him babbling on and on every night?

She didn't have to do anything—not about him. She could just clean up, have the window replaced, buy a new chair, fix the cushion, and pretend nothing happened. She didn't have to follow the tracks back to where they undoubtedly led, risking never coming out again. She could just go back to her normal life, going back to work tomorrow like nothing had happened…

…Like nothing would ever happen in the dull cycle her life had become.

Chell spun around, kicking over the remaining chair as she stomped into her storage room. As she yanked boxes out of the way, digging around for various items she had hoped she would never need, a thought occurred to her.

Yes, she _was_ a lunatic.

And she really didn't care.

* * *

_Remember: Don't listen to a word it says. In fact, if it talks too much, why don't you make sure it_ stays _quiet. Then bring it back to me._

It was a strange mission, to be sure, but they'd followed it to the letter. They'd followed the coordinates, though they led them far outside the facility. The floor out there was covered in strange, white dust that melted when they touched it, but they had kept going until they reached the place. One of her "little killers" had been waiting for them, tapping on the glass they were supposed to break. It was simple enough, and once that had been accomplished, they had climbed into the room. After a bit of scrambling, they had found the object they'd come to retrieve.

And it had been loud. It had screamed and yelled and made other funny noises they hadn't heard before, but they dutifully carried it back to the facility. But unlike the times they had found frankenturrets, they never really felt any desire to fight over who got to carry this thing next. Well, they _did_ , but not in the same way—one would often shove it into the other's arms, usually resulting in their dropping it a few times before a voice from the little killer's harness yelled at them to keep going. All the while, the thing was still yelling and screaming and squirming in their grasp, fighting desperately to get away.

Just when it seemed like they were ready to tear their aural receptors out, the little killer had swooped down and stuck its head into the thing's side. After screaming for a few seconds, it shut up, and the blue light on it went dim.

It was a lot easier to carry after that.

And now, here they were, standing in her chamber and holding up their prize. She did not look at them, but a claw descended from the ceiling and snatched the object.

" _Very good_ ," she said.

They grinned at each other, and hi-fived.

" _Now get out_."

The part of the floor they stood on sprung up at an angle, sending them flying backward out of the chamber. Several panels covered the only entrance to the room, keeping them out, and leaving her alone with the tiny hunk of metal they'd retrieved.

* * *

He groaned as his processor sluggishly booted up. He'd crashed rather badly, but as the memory of the hallucination came back to him, he could see why. A shudder racked his casing.

It made him sick just _thinking_ about it. Those crazy robots, that bird, _her_ voice… and he'd been screaming and crying throughout the whole thing. Embarrassment flooded his circuits—he was glad the lady hadn't been around to hear that.

" _But_ I _was._ "

Wheatley's optic snapped online with a flash and immediately contracted to a pinprick. It was dark, there were birds cawing somewhere, a cable was connected to his back port, and _she_ was hovering just a foot above him.

" _Crying is a sign of weakness. But then, we already know how pathetic you are._ "

His processor was reeling, and he shut his optic, curling his handle around himself. "No, nonononono, I'm not there, I-I'm not there, I'm not there, I'm b-back in that room and th-the lady's going to c-come back and wake me up any second now—" His voice went up in pitch until it was nothing but a squeak, and he shook so badly it hurt. But he _had_ to be hallucinating still, because this couldn't be real, it couldn't, he was going to wake up any second—

" _Oh, are you still trying to tell yourself that?_ " She was so close that he could hear the quiet whirring in her frame. " _You seem to be growing more and more delusional. How sad._ "

"No, no, I-I'm not d-delusional, I-I mean—I'm s-seeing things n-now, obviously, but th-that'll change s-soon, b-because sh-she's going to c-come back a-and w-wake me up, b-because she said _you_ w-wouldn't c-come back…!"

" _You keep telling yourself that every day. If that's not delusion, I don't know what is._ "

Wheatley risked opening his optic again, and snapped it shut when he saw—no, _thought_ he saw—a yellow optic just inches away from his. "Wh-what…?"

" _I hope you realize you've never left the facility. Really, why would you think that lunatic would bring you to her home and repair you?_ "

"B-because…" He opened his optic and tried to force himself to see what he _should_ have been seeing—the lady's house—but no matter how many times he blinked and readjusted his optic, all he could see was that malevolent yellow light. Wincing, he forced himself to roll to the side, causing his innards to creak—but then he remembered his wires, and his vocal processor, and— "B-because I _am_ repaired! Sh-she fixed me! P-part of me, a-anyway."

" _No._ I _fixed you._ "

"But—"

" _I missed hearing your screams, and it's much easier to rearrange your wires when they're not broken._ " She moved to the side, drawing herself closer to the floor so she could stare into his optic again. " _If you really thought she would repair you after what_ you _did to her, then you're far more insane than she ever was._ "

He narrowed his optic, shaking his face. "N-no, no, th-that's not true—I-I _apologized_ t-to her, and—and she cared a-about me! Sh-she cared— _cares—_ about poor ol' Wheatley! Sh-she—she's g-going to fix my s-sleep mode—"

" _I hate to break it to you—no, I don't. No-one cares, nor will ever care, about a miserable wretch like_ you _._ "

The fear fled him for a moment, and Wheatley shuddered in rage, his pinprick optic shining white in fury. " _SHUT UP_!"

And immediately a familiar searing pain clawed through his circuits, making him scream and convulse in agony. When it stopped, she spoke, and each little phrase was punctuated by another excruciating jolt.

" _I think—you might—be_ forgetting _—something_."

His casing, wires—everything burned. With a weak groan, he shut his optic. "D-don't… tell you wh-what… to do…?"

She gave a quiet laugh.

" _Welcome back to the real world, moron._ "

Wheatley had already figured it out, but the next wave of electricity drove the point home: he was back at Aperture, in GLaDOS's lair, completely at her mercy, and miles and miles away from the lady… if he'd even been with her in the first place.

Reality hit him like a spike plate, and he broke down.

" _You know who else cries when they're trapped in hopeless situations? Humans. Weak, pathetic, irrational humans. You're just proving how much like those 'smelly humans' you are. It's quite sad._ " She regarded him for a moment, then: " _Speaking of humans, they typically stop crying when their voices attract turret fire. There are currently no turrets here, but I can easily fix that._ "

He forcibly muted himself, though his spherical body racked with sobs. A small part of him was still convinced that this couldn't be real; she'd told him—she'd _told_ him that GLaDOS wouldn't come back. She'd even been brave enough to actually say thatname—

…That _name_.

"H-her name!" he yelled, fighting with all he had to stop crying and keep his voice steady—to have that same strength _she_ had. "I-I know she's th-there, b-because I c-c-can remember her n-name!"

GLaDOS lifted herself higher, but still stared down at him, expression unreadable.

"H-her name is _Chell_! She—she told me that her name was Chell! Wh-when you threw m-me out, _Chell_ saved me!" His optic narrowed, and he felt a confidence gradually mount within him. "Chell—th-the one who _killed_ you! Sh- _she_ saved me! A-and she's going t-to save me again! A-and _she'll kill you_!"

She continued to stare at him wordlessly, and he took it to mean she was speechless.

He was nearly swelling with pride and confidence, and yelled louder: " _D-do you hear me_?! I-it wasn't all a dream! Ch-Chell really _did_ save me, a-and _you_ stole me, and _she's_ going to come back and _kill_ you! And—"

He was suddenly aware of a foreign presence snaking through his innards.

" _I take that back._ "

The mechanical arm ripped through a set of wires, making him scream—but there was no sound.

" _I really_ didn't _miss hearing your voice._ "

_Aaagh… oh, oh no. Nononono…! N-not again, not_ again _!_ His handle flailed in panic, and his optic darted around frantically. _She can't take my voice again, no—!_

" _I_ can _take your voice again, and have. It should not have been there in the first place—your programmers gave you such a voice by pure accident. Why else would you sound like nails on a chalkboard?_ "

_No, no, no—but, but Chell can fix this, when she saves me, she can fix this, it's all right—_ He twitched, silently groaning when he realized that glitch was back. _It's all right, though, it's fine, she can fix me again, she can fix me…_

" _The lunatic is brain-damaged—you said so yourself. And even if she weren't, she would never rescue you. You are a worthless traitor, betraying the only person dumb enough to help you._ "

_She rescued me before, I know she did, and she's going to come back and help me—_ help me _—help me, Chell! Don't leave me here!_ HELP _!_

" _You're not even talking, moron. She's not going to hear you, nor is she going to find you._ "

And with that, the floor beneath GLaDOS opened, revealing several menacing arms that were staring eagerly at the core. If his vocal processor were connected, it would have been simulating panicked gasps at the sight of the arms. He emitted a silent cry as the cable at his back port retracted, slowly dragging him into the pit.

" _I've already conducted a thorough examination of your parts, so the next logical step would be experimentation. You should be proud. For once, you'll be of use in forwarding the cause of Science._ "

_No!_ No _!_ He struggled against the cable, trying to disconnect himself, but the cable did not budge. _Chell, help me!_ His eye darted around frantically, hoping to spot a panel opening somewhere and a familiar lady rushing in to save him. But no matter how much he strained his optic, he could see nothing but the malevolent AI hovering over him, her yellow optic glowing in sick delight. He squirmed at the sight and tried to scream despite his disconnected vocal processor. _Chell,_ please _help me,_ please _!_ PLEASE _!_ HELP _!_

As soon as Wheatley was close enough, one of the arms snagged him and yanked him into the pit. The triangular ceiling panels closed, engulfing him in darkness.

* * *

" _AAAAAAAGH—!"_

_Wheatley gave a jerk, immediately curling his handles around his spherical body and shutting his—wait, handles?_

_Opening his optic, he glanced down, noting that his lower handle had returned—but his joy at discovering this immediately fled when he felt the intense heat all around him. Being an Aperture product, he could function in the heat, but it still scorched his casing—and on top of that, he_ swore _he could feel something digging through his insides, though he did not immediately see anything around him._

" _Wh-what's going on?!" he cried. His question was soon answered as he took a quick glance around: the darkness, the heat, the conveyor belt underneath him… Yes, he was back on the redemption line, and very close to the incinerator, if not already in it._

_A nauseated feeling surged through his circuits—he didn't want to be_ here _, but then, the only other option was…_

_Realizing he was moving along on a management rail, he forced himself to stop, grinding to a halt. "No, no, I can't do this anymore!" The rail shuddered, slowly forcing him forward no matter how hard he applied the brakes. His voice was desperate, but weak. "I-I don't want to do this anymore—let me go…"_

_He fought against the rail with everything he had, but it forced him onward, drawing him closer to the heat and pain. Even with the rail as a power supply, he felt exhausted as he fought against it. Finally he went limp, handles drooping as he allowed the rail to move him. He may have been crying again, but he didn't care anymore. Slowly but surely, the familiar feeling of numbness was creeping up on him again. He couldn't fight against his situation anymore—it was hopeless._

_Wheatley briefly wondered if letting himself fall to the conveyor belt below would kill him faster._

" _Are you still there?"_

_His gaze drifted downward, falling upon the single turret on the redemption line. If he had actually cared anymore, he may have been surprised when his rail led him downward, drawing him closer to the turret until he was beside her._

" _You have avoided the first path," she whispered. "Remember that."_

" _So what if I bloody did," he muttered. "Th-this is it. I'm going to die here, or sh-_ she's _going to kill me."_

" _This path has an end."_

" _The incinerator." He closed his optic. "I-I don't care. Okay? I-I really don't care. I hope we get to it sooner."_

" _It does_ not _end in the incinerator."_

_A bolt of surprise shattered through Wheatley's numbness, and his eye widened. Did that turret—the one that had never raised her voice past a whisper—actually sound_ frustrated _?_

_Blinking, he turned to face her, only for his eye aperture to contract—her beam of light was staring him straight in the optic. While the optic of a turret typically never showed any emotion, he swore he could feel determination burning in that blank red eye._

_Even so, he turned away, shutting his optic again. "We can't go anywhere, though. Th-this heat, a-and—and whatever else is here—is going to kill us… What the bloody heck are we supposed to do?"_

" _Endure."_

_Her voice had quieted again, and when he turned back, he found her facing forward once more._

_Wheatley stared at the turret, seeing her white casing shining in the heat. His gaze then trailed down to her stiff, immobile legs, then back to her optic, which seemed to glow in determination._

_Slowly his optic widened in realization: the turret was feeling all the pain he was, and was more helpless than he was, yet she still held on to some kind of hope—even when it seemed like the redemption line's end was nowhere in sight._

_Looking from the turret to the line and back again, Wheatley simulated a deep breath and carefully leaned his spherical body against her side. "R-right," he whispered. "I'll endure."_

* * *

A trail had been left in the snow, dead grass and dirt showing where the thieves had traveled. The footprints overlapped, going straight one way and straight back, though at a few points they became distorted by a round imprint in the snow. Her brow had furrowed when she saw it—she knew what it meant, and what it could mean.

All the way, she had been fighting her old fear of _that_ place. Part of her realized that if she set foot in there again, she may never come out. She also knew that Wheatley may have been injured even worse from this experience, if he hadn't been broken entirely.

But then a stronger voice within her would speak up, reminding her just what she was going back there for. If Wheatley had been broken worse, she would find a way to fix him. She could not leave him there. Not to mention, _she_ had broken into her house. And if she did it once, who was to say she wouldn't do it again?

And Chell would _not_ let that happen.

So, led by a flashlight, she had followed the trail away from her house, through the forest… and now here she was, at what appeared to be an old log cabin. Adjusting the weight of her backpack on her shoulders, she placed a gloved hand on the side of the building, and quickly pulled away—even through the material of the glove, she could feel the chill of metal. She moved her flashlight around, noting the rusted signs littering the front of the house: " _Do not enter._ " " _Beware of dog._ " " _Solicitors will be shot._ "

This was the end of the trail, and she knew where it led.

Chell drew in a deep breath, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach as she reached for the doorknob. As soon as she turned it, she yanked her hand back and dropped her flashlight as a sound echoed throughout the forest: dogs barking and howling.

The fear only lasted for a moment before she realized that the sound was coming from within the cabin, and that it was looping. Of course.

She shook her head and tried turning the doorknob again. To her relief, it yielded, and the door came open with a loud _creak_ ; simultaneously, the dog recording fell silent.

And had Aperture not trained her to listen for subtle noises, Chell would have been killed two seconds later.

But she heard the quiet whirring despite the creaking of the door, and automatically dove out of the way when she heard a rapid series of beeps directly behind her. The rockets slammed into the front of the cabin, briefly lighting the area, blackening the metal, and shattering the windows, and she covered her face to avoid getting cut by the shards.

Standing up, she saw a bright green optic with a dead, black pupil and a beam shooting directly out of it. Though it rotated slowly, it only took a moment for the beam to lock onto her form. The green turned to bright yellow, and the device emitted another series of beeps before flashing a bright red.

She darted out of the way, barely avoiding the rockets. There was a bright flash as a smoking crater appeared where she had been standing.

But now the rocket turret was turning back toward her, searching for where she may have gone. Before its beam could reach her, Chell darted into the shed and slammed the door shut.

Anyone else might have thought himself safe, but she knew she was anything but. She was in Aperture, where neither human nor machine was safe.

Before her was a lift, undamaged by the rocket fire. Its doors were open, welcoming her into the depths of hell.

But before she entered, she slipped her backpack off her shoulders, digging through its contents. At the same time, she kicked the snow-soaked boots off of her feet, and pulled out a second pair of boots—these ones solid white, each with a long black metal bar attached to the back. Carefully she slipped these on, frowning as she adjusted her stance—her toes touched the ground, while the metal bracers of the long-fall boots kept her heels in the air. Even after five years, she could still walk in them with ease.

Despite the icy wind blowing through the broken windows, Chell shed her layers of winter clothing, shoving them into her backpack and carefully arranging the contents of her bag and pockets. Normally she would have just arranged everything haphazardly, but _here_ , the way everything was organized meant the difference between life and death.

Once she was satisfied, she slipped her backpack on and stepped into the lift.

The doors closed behind her.

* * *

The crow held still as a mechanical arm carefully pulled off its harness. Once the device was removed, the bird gave a grating cry, stretching its wings and flying toward the ceiling of the chamber.

" _You have done very well, Caroline_ ," GLaDOS said, her voice almost soft. She shifted her chassis as the bird perched on one of her "arms." " _Mommy is very, very proud of you_."

The AI tilted her head as her processor picked up the "sound" of silent screaming and a slight spike in physical agony through the connection. Though she was not actively controlling the experiment at the moment, her optic shone in satisfaction; the arms were examining the extent of her subject's injuries and repairs, and apparently had just made a dent in its innards.

Science wasn't Science without risk of injury, after all.

As she began to open her connection further to get a better sense for her subject's condition, her processor picked up something else—an elevator was moving without her telling it to somewhere in the facility. Optic narrowing, she traced the connection, and found it was the lift from one of the facility's secret entrances—the one that Blue and Orange had used not long ago. Switching her vision to that of the security camera within the lift, she looked inside—

And her entire body shook with rage.

" **You.** "

The crow let out a screech, flying away from the infuriated AI and darting behind a panel in the wall. GLaDOS hardly noticed; she ran through a series of commands, rearranging the track of the lift and the path of the chambers it led to.

" _I must say_ ," she said, her voice carrying throughout the facility, " _you have managed to surprise me. You are far, far more stupid than I could have ever imagined_." Through the camera feed, she saw the lunatic whip around and glare at her. " _I'm sorry. 'Stupid' is too polite a word for someone like you. It doesn't come close to measuring the sheer idiocy and lunacy your twisted mind possesses._ "

The lunatic retrieved something out of her pocket and pointed it at the camera.

" _Yes, I see it. It's not a portal gun, you know. You are completely helpless without one. In fact, you are helpless whether you have one or not. Nothing you could possibly possess could help you, you stupid, mute—_ "

_CRACK._

The feed fizzled out into blackness.

GLaDOS's optic narrowed to a slit. " _So that's it. Your pathetic human weapon may have destroyed the camera, but it will do nothing against_ me _. But I see you're willing to risk it. I would be…_ happy _… to show you just how wrong you are, and just how dead you will be._ "

A nanosecond later, she made the elevator move faster and readjusted the chambers.

Apparently releasing her had not worked. It was time to end this once and for all.

* * *

Chell braced herself against the side of the lift as it plummeted into the depths of the facility. When it finally came to a stop, she nearly dropped to the ground, and staggered out as the doors slid open. As soon as the doors shut, she caught her hand against the wall and vomited.

A taunting voice rang out from a speaker in the corner. " _Oh, did all those comments about your weight finally get to you? Or did it just take you five years to understand them?_ "

She spat in the direction of the speaker and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. While she hadn't lost her reflexes, apparently she'd lost the ability to stomach falling at high speeds. Though she kept the determined look about her, inwardly she found herself wondering if she'd lost anything else during the five year absence.

As she stepped out of the elevator room, the sour smell of stomach acid gave way to the smell of stale air and adrenal vapor. Solid white panels lit by fluorescent light greeted her, forming a short rectangular room. A single, round door stood at the far end.

She was back.

Chell's stomach was twisting, and it wasn't from the motion sickness. The chamber was overly-simple—there weren't even any obstacles. Looking to the wall on her right, she saw the sign for the test, which simply said "1" as opposed to the typical "1/19" or "1/22." None of the warning symbols below it were lit, which brought no comfort.

Drawing in a deep breath, she crept across the chamber, willing her senses to heighten. She listened for the sound of a panel opening, watched for a red beam of light, and smelled for even the slightest reek of neurotoxin. She did find one camera in the corner, staring at her intently, and had to fight the urge to pull out her gun and shoot it. She may need the bullets for later.

But none of the panels opened, no turrets dropped out from a hidden vent, and no neurotoxin leaked into the room. She made it safely to the other side, and the door automatically opened.

_Clap, clap, clap._

" _Oh, look, you haven't completely killed all your brain cells from lack of mental stimulation. I'm so proud of you._ "

It was tempting to glare at the camera again, shoot at it, maybe even throw a rude gesture in its direction, but she stopped herself. No, that would not help her. She would not give GLaDOS the satisfaction of an emotional response.

" _You may have noticed that this chamber lacks an emancipation grill. That was intentional. You are no longer wearing official Aperture Science Test Subject clothing, and while it would be amusing to allow the grill to emancipate your outfit, I really don't want to see any more of your disgusting body than you are already subjecting me to_."

Chell closed her eyes. _Don't react, don't react, don't react._

" _However, I do feel you have no need of that backpack_."

_Don't react, don't react, don't—_ what _?!_

A panel slid open, and Chell immediately whipped around to find herself facing a mechanical arm. But as she did so, she felt a tugging sensation at her shoulders, and realized that a claw was pulling on her backpack—a panel on the ceiling had slid open at the same time as the one on the wall. She'd been tricked.

Chell struggled against the claw, fighting for possession of her bag, but ultimately the mechanical strength of the claw won over her own. It yanked the backpack from her shoulders and carried it up into the ceiling.

" _There. Now you can test properly._ "

She rubbed her aching shoulders and stared at a spot on the floor, fighting the emotions welling up in her—both the anger and terror.

" _Proceed to the next test chamber_."

The speaker clicked off, and a lift rose in the elevator room ahead.

Chell walked into the elevator, leaning against the wall as it brought her downward, further into the facility. Her backpack was gone, and to anyone else, the situation would have seemed hopeless.

But when had that stopped her?

* * *

GLaDOS quickly set up the next chamber, placing a portal gun toward the entrance. But, after a picosecond of thought, removed it, carefully rearranging the chamber to be able to be solved without one. No, she would not give her a portal gun this time—she knew what tricks the lunatic was capable of when she possessed one.

Besides, she had been toying with test chambers that involved no use of the portal gun, instead using portal-creating machines when portals were called for—and this would be the perfect chance to use them.

A thought occurred to the AI: she had taken the equipment the lunatic possessed and had her trapped in a set of test chambers. The human had no portal gun, no equipment aside from her boots to help her, and no stupid metal ball to help her escape the chambers. Not to mention, the AI had been perfecting the chambers, making them even harder to break out of.

What was stopping her from just leaving the human there, adding new chambers as she went?

The idea was… very tempting. It had been so long since she'd had a good test subject, after all, and the lunatic had always been rather good at solving tests. Meanwhile, she had the moron with her as well—perfect for playing with whenever watching the lunatic got old.

GLaDOS's optic glowed at the thought. The lunatic trapped in a series of endless test chambers, and the moron trapped in endless punishment. Oh, _yes_. It sounded absolutely wonderful.

But—no, tempting as it was, she could not trust the lunatic to not find some off-the-wall way of breaking out of her test chambers. Even now that GLaDOS could see every part of the facility, she knew how hard it would be to catch that rat if she ever got out. She either needed to throw her out or kill her. She'd already tried the first option and failed—for whatever reason, the lunatic had come back. That left the second option.

It wouldn't hurt to play around with her prey for a bit longer, though.

GLaDOS added a couple more test chambers to the track.

* * *

Wheatley had woken out of his hallucination some time ago, cringing upon seeing the blue light from his optic bouncing off the poles of several mechanical arms. He could still feel them in his casing, but oddly enough, they weren't doing anything at the moment.

Not that it made him feel any better. He tried to struggle, but the arms made movement incredibly painful, if not impossible. _Agh… Bloody stupid arms… I-if you're not doing a-anything, get out! O-or get_ me _out, that would be nice, t-too._

The arms prevented him from moving his optic, but from what he could tell, there was nothing much to see anyway. There were no lights here, and, if he remembered right, he was beneath the floor of the central chamber— _she_ was right above him. At the very least, he couldn't see _her_ … though he could definitely feel her presence nearby.

Wheatley groaned silently. _Oh… Chell, p-please get me out of here!_ He tried to will his vocal processor to work, but the broken wires only sparked, causing him to twitch painfully. _Chell, I-I don't know where you are now—but—but I know you won't leave me in here! W-will you?_

To his shock, he received a response, but not one he'd been hoping for—there was a quick movement in his casing, followed by a shooting pain that made him spark and shudder; one of his wires had been severed.

" _Don't think I've forgotten about you, moron._ "

Wheatley twitched again, but forced his optic to glare forward, where he hoped GLaDOS probably was. _W-well, I did! B-because you're so bloody stupid, t-to think Chell w-won't come here a-and help—_

The mechanical arms yanked themselves away from him just as electricity clawed through his spherical body.

" _You are in_ no position _to say anything like that_ ," she said over the electricity. "Don't _forget it_."

Finally the pain stopped, and Wheatley went limp, twitching miserably a few times. _…I won't…_

" _And you can stop asking for the lunatic to save you. She does not care about a worthless metal ball like you_."

… _Right…_

" _I have a test subject to get back to. Meanwhile, why don't_ you _perform a little test—see if you can go ten minutes without thinking a single stupid thought_."

Wheatley lay on his side in that lonely place, waiting until he felt GLaDOS's attention move away from him. Even then, he swore he could feel the sick enjoyment she was getting out of this and whatever she was doing to her test subject. He shuddered. _Okay… so, making fun of GLaDOS… that's a stupid idea, right…_ Twitch. _And calling for Chell t-to save me… But she_ is _going to—_

Pain shot through his circuits again. He writhed until it stopped, and shut his optic.

_O… kay… thinking she'll save me i-is… a bad idea…_ The thought was not a pleasant one. _Not_ hoping for Chell to save him…? No—no, he couldn't do that. If he was going to endure, he had to hold on to _some_ kind of hope. He nodded to himself despite the pain. _Chell_ is _going to—_

Electricity clawed through him again, but he clung to his hope.

_N-no, I'm going to_ endure _this, b-because she_ is _going to save—_

And again the electricity shocked him, but he held on tighter.

_She_ is _, you bloody_ stupid—

And again.

_CHELL IS GOING TO_ KILL _YOU AND_ SAVE _M_ —

_KSSSHHHK…_

* * *

Chell rushed out of the elevator and stared at the next sign, fighting to hide her frustration at seeing only the number "11." All these tests, and she hadn't received a portal gun yet, nor had she arrived at the end of the track. What was GLaDOS _doing_?

She wasn't tired at least, thanks to the adrenal vapor, but given how the AI had been acting, it wouldn't surprise her if that would be removed as well.

As she moved through the test chamber, a detached part of her quickly pieced together a solution to the puzzle the room presented, while the rest of her focused on just how she was going to get to GLaDOS and find Wheatley. The AI had not once mentioned him, which was rather strange—though maybe it was a good thing. After all, GLaDOS wasn't threatening to kill Wheatley if she didn't comply with her or didn't keep solving tests. But how long _was_ she going to have to keep solving tests?

As she reached the end of the chamber, a chilling thought crossed her mind: Was GLaDOS just going to test her _indefinitely_?

" _I'd forgotten how good you are at this. Did you know that 72.6 percent of humans die before they reach the eleventh chamber in a testing track?_ "

Chell had heard the AI's sick statements far too many times to be disturbed by them anymore. She stepped into the lift.

" _It can get tiring cleaning human corpses out of these chambers. So if you happen to find a skeleton or two, I apologize. Do me a favor and kick them into an acid moat._ "

She closed her eyes, leaning against the wall of the lift as it began to lower. _Just a few more chambers_ , she told herself. _Just a few more chambers._

Yet after the next several tests, there was no sign of a portal gun, and no indication of when the testing track would end. She fought the panic that was starting to mount within her—the fear that she would be trapped in an endless series of tests, like the ones she'd had nightmares about so often before. Still, she continued through the chambers, fighting to figure out the increasingly-difficult test solutions.

It was more than her usual determination that kept her going. She wasn't fighting just to save herself anymore—she was fighting to save someone else.

" _You're doing_ very _well,_ " came the AI's voice as she stepped out into yet another test chamber. " _But I'm sad to say you won't stay that way for too long._ " Ominous laughter dripped from the speakers.

Chell tensed, but went on to solve the chamber as usual. Though she couldn't fight the feeling that something was strange here as she went through a series of buttons to redirect a laser into a switch. Hearing something activate, she turned to see a platform sliding along a track over an acid pit—

_This chamber._

She spun around to look at the sign at the beginning, and felt a stab of nausea at its label: "19/19."

Frantically she looked around, searching for some way to get out of this chamber, but there was no way to go but forward. The platform had already gone beyond her reach, and another was moving along the track. As she stepped onto it, she was suddenly aware that she was shaking.

" _Ah, human fear. It's been a while since I've seen that characteristic in you._ "

Chell punched the wall, willing herself to stop shivering. She wanted to scream, to say all manner of nasty things against the AI, but her vocal cords refused to let her make a sound. She proceeded through the course, which had been modified slightly to be able to be solved without a portal gun, using buttons to move obstacles from the track and dodging a bouncing plasma ball that was in her way.

Finally she found herself approaching a sign displaying a black-and-white icon of a cake and felt the heat radiating nearby. She knew what was coming, and her mind raced to figure out how to get out of it this time. The platform turned a corner, and just a few yards ahead was a blazing inferno, littered with ashes, broken equipment, and a couple blackened skeletons.

Above the sound of roaring flames rang quiet laughter.

No, no, _no_ , it wasn't going to end this way, she'd gotten out before, but that was with the portal gun, but there _had_ to be a way out of here again, she had to—

Something between the fire pit and acid moat caught her eye. There was a tiny space between the two, and on it sat a semi-large, black-and-white piece of equipment.

Immediately she lay down flat on the platform, squinting her eyes against the blazing heat, and reached down over the edge. As soon as she was close enough, she snatched up the portal device, ignoring the pain from the heat, and shot two portals—one on the platform above the fire, and one on the wall nearby. She jumped to her feet and leaped through the portal, gasping in the slightly cooler air above the fire pit, and dropping the burning portal gun to the floor.

She held her burned hand close to her chest, but despite the pain, she felt a wicked, defiant grin cross her face. She'd done it. Now all that was left was to wait for the portal gun to cool enough for her to hold it without burning herself worse, and use it to portal herself up—

Chell's face went pale.

The path to the rest of the facility—the one she'd used to get away the first time—had been blocked off.

GLaDOS's laughter rang throughout the chamber, louder and harsher than ever before.

" _Did you_ honestly _think it would be that easy? Did you think I would make the same mistake_ twice _?_ "

Chell fought the urge to scream.

" _Well, now, you're in an interesting position, aren't you? You could either sit up there until you die of dehydration or starvation, or you could jump into the fire pit and be burned to death. Quite the variety of choices._ "

_No. There's got to be something else._ She held her head in her hands. _There's_ always _something else...!_

" _But I'm feeling generous—I'll provide you with another choice. It's a much quicker death than any of those three._ " And with that, a panel in the wall opened, revealing a path beyond.

Chell looked into the opening, but couldn't see the end of the path. She slowly turned back to the fire pit, and of course, the path above was still sealed by panels. There was nothing more she could do here. But before she left…

Reaching down, she moved to pick up the portal device—

—and staggered back when it exploded in a burst of electricity.

" _No oversights._ "

Chell kicked the broken device into the fire pit and stepped through the opening in the wall. She had an idea of what lay ahead.

And though GLaDOS apparently made no oversights, neither did she.

* * *

GLaDOS had the command ready—all she had to do was confirm it, and the lunatic would be done for. She had ensured it. The human had no-one dumb enough to help her and nothing she could use to save herself. The plan was perfect.

She would not lose.

While her optic faced the panel in the wall that she'd opened, her vision was switching from camera to camera, watching the lunatic approach her chamber. There was no adrenal vapor here, and she could see the human's weary step. She could see her pale face, her shaking hands, and her frazzled hair, not to mention the cuts and scrapes on the skin that showed, and the burn on her hand—she was in bad shape. Her death would be swift.

GLaDOS gave a quiet laugh. " _That's right. I have a surprise waiting for you just ahead. Do come closer—I want to see your face when you receive your… present._ "

Soon her aural sensors were picking up the _clank, clank, clank_ of the long-fall boots as the lunatic approached her chamber. Finally she switched her vision to her optic as the weary human stepped into the room. She slammed the panel shut behind her.

But, to her surprise, the human only glared at her defiantly, showing no sign of the fear she'd seen in her earlier. " _Oh, don't give me that look_ ," she said, turning her massive frame while keeping her optic focused on the lunatic. " _I'm doing you a favor. Instead of allowing you to die of something slow and agonizing, say, incineration, starvation, dehydration—I'm providing you with a much_ faster _death. You should be grateful._ "

The lunatic did not respond, but continued to glare.

" _Very well—let's get right to it._ "

She issued the command, and several air vents opened.

"Neurotoxin at capacity in three minutes."

At that, the lunatic staggered back, frantically searching her pockets. GLaDOS laughed at the sight. " _Aren't you desperate. You know that human weapon of yours will do nothing against my frame._ " Her optic glowed as the human turned away, hunching over. " _I suppose I could give you a sporting chance and dump conversion gel into the room like that moron did, but then, you don't even have a portal gun. You have nothing to help—_ "

The lunatic turned around.

And GLaDOS's frame jerked back, her optic widening. " _Wh_ -what— _no—how did you—?!_ "

She could see the grin in the human's eyes despite the gas mask that covered her face.

This was not possible. She had rid the human of that bag she carried—how had she missed…?! …No, no, this wasn't over. The lunatic was still trapped, and that mask's filter couldn't last forever. Her frame relaxed, and she laughed quietly, allowing the neurotoxin vents to continue spewing poison into the air. " _You're only prolonging your death. If you don't want to take that option, I've got another one for you._ "

Slowly GLaDOS began to lower several claws into the room and watched the lunatic carefully. " _You know… did you ever stop to think that there's eventually a point where your name gets mentioned for the very last time?_ " she asked, bringing her head closer to the human's face as her optic burned an intense, threatening yellow. Meanwhile, each claw dropped a turret and retracted back into the ceiling. " _Well, here it is: I'm going to kill you,_ Chell."

And the turrets locked onto her.

* * *

_Chell…_

_Someone said… her name…_

_But what…?_

**Wake up.**

Wheatley's processor was quickly yanked through its boot-up sequence, pulling him out of the daze he'd been in. Twitching, he glanced around the room, only to find that he was still in the same place. But… he swore he'd heard someone say _her_ name.

_I'm going to kill you, Chell._

Yes, that's what he'd heard. But who—

_I'm going to kill you, and you'll never have another chance to kill_ me _._

Wheatley's optic shrunk to a pinprick. What was going on…?! How was he hearing this? Was he _really_ hearing this, or was he just hearing things again?

_This plan will_ not _fail._

He strained his aural sensors, trying to find the source of the voice, and he was hearing something—footsteps… and _gunfire_? But the voice wasn't coming from there. His optic narrowed as he concentrated, trying to think—but there were strange feelings getting in the way, part excitement, part fear, but… somehow it wasn't his. It was like he was sensing something, like—

_Goodbye, Chell._

—GLaDOS's thoughts.

His optic widened in realization: he was connected to her, and she was connected to him. And if he could trust her thoughts…

The lady had come back.

Wheatley felt dazed at first, but soon the hope he'd been so desperately clinging to before began to grow, partly numbing the pain he felt, filling him with warmth… But despite all this, despite the happiness he felt, he swore his emotions were glitching, because he felt like crying again—

" _Aaagh_!"

He jolted and twitched. _No_ —that was Chell's voice, she'd been hurt—! And there was something else—joy?

" _Oh, you have_ no idea _how long I've wanted to hear that._ "

_No, no, no, you can't hurt her, you can't hurt Chell—!_ Wheatley's optic darted around in panic, but what could he do? He was trapped here underneath the chamber with no way of getting out. He was trapped under here, hooked up to GLaDOS, and he was still hurting from—

…the electricity.

… _No, that's completely mad. I-I can't do that—! It's completely ridiculous—but—but…_ He looked around at the light from his cracked optic bouncing off the mechanical arms, his upper handle, the space where his lower handle should have been… _Ridiculous ideas are all I've got now, aren't they?_

" _Time's almost up._ "

Another pained cry.

" _I win._ "

_NO!_

Wheatley snapped his optic shut, focusing everything he had on trying to attack the massive AI above him. It was a tremendous drain on his energy, but he had to do _something_ —he had to help Chell…! He focused on all the pain that AI had put him through, all the mental and physical anguish she'd given him and the lady, all those days and days of endless torture—

_Let's see… how_ you… _like it…_ GLaDOS _!_

* * *

There were thirty seconds on the countdown timer, the turrets had hit their target a few times, and the lunatic was steadily growing more and more tired.

GLaDOS's optic glowed in delight. She could let the turrets finally strike her down, she could wait until the human passed out and tear off that gas mask, or she could forego those options and just crush her with—

And without warning, her whole world was consumed in agony. Her massive body twisted as electricity arced off of her frame, and a scream tore through her vocal processor, rising in pitch and warping until it became nothing but a garbled robotic howl.

Her circuits burned, her processor was reeling, and she couldn't even hear herself screaming anymore. She was blind to everything but the pain, and searched frantically for the source, soon finding it directly beneath her.

" _GET_ —OUT… _!_ " she roared, her chassis and everything around it shuddering in violent tremors. " _GET OUT!_ "

The floor burst open, and with a spark of electricity a tiny form was thrown out into the chamber, knocking over a few turrets as it went. Simultaneously the agony began to fade, and she lowered herself, a few sparks still dancing across her chassis. Her vision cleared just in time for her to see the lunatic knocking over the remaining turrets.

Her sensors were reeling in pain, everything was going wrong, and the human was _still alive_.

GLaDOS made no attempt to mask her rage.

" _You murderous_ lunatic," she thundered. " _I don't know what you've done to me, but this_ isn't _over_."

Without another word, she issued a string of commands, sending a spike plate roaring down from the ceiling, crashing through several panels in the side wall. To her fury, the lunatic barely managed to dodge, staggering over to grab something.

No matter. She wouldn't be able to dodge this _next_ one. Issuing another string of commands, she prepared to have spike plates circle the chamber—

_Ding_.

"Neurotoxin at maximum capacity."

GLaDOS froze.

There was a feeling rapidly building inside her, stronger than any she'd felt before. It was stronger than the shock and confusion she'd felt when the lunatic had first escaped chamber 19, stronger than her rage and terror when the mechanical arms tore her from her chassis—it was a sense of overwhelming panic, as though she had made a horrible mistake, worse than failing to kill the lunatic, as though she had—

Her chassis swung around to face the other side of the room, and her head jerked upward as she opened a group of panels in the wall toward the top of the chamber.

And GLaDOS screamed, unaware of her half-destroyed chamber, her still-burning circuits, her subjects escaping through a broken wall—blind to everything but the sight of three crows, lying still behind the panels.

* * *

Chell had no idea where she was or where she was going. All she knew was that GLaDOS was probably following her, and Wheatley was not talking.

She held the core tightly in her arms, clutching him close to her side. It was too hard to carry him by his handle with her injured hand, and it was all she could do to keep herself from dropping him. He wasn't struggling, either, and that worried her even more—he wasn't resisting being carried like this, when he couldn't even stand her touching his casing before.

Finally she came to a stop, finding herself near what appeared to be the outside of a chamber. Leaning against the reverse side of a panel, she slid to a seated position and tore off her gas mask, taking a gasp of unfiltered air. She set Wheatley down next to her and fished through a pocket inside her jacket, pulling out a packet of gauze and bandages. As she treated the wound in her arm where one of the turrets' bullets had grazed her, she cast an occasional glance at the core beside her, looking for some sign of life.

He lay limp against her side, optic still lit, but dull and flickering.

Chell quickly finished wrapping her arm and turned to face the core. She placed her uninjured palm against his side and shook him, but received no response. Eyebrows furrowing, she moved to grab his handle and gave it a squeeze. The core twitched, but did not respond otherwise. His optic went a shade duller.

Her stomach was knotting, and she felt her throat tighten—this couldn't happen, not after she'd risked all this to save him, not after she'd escaped death trap after death trap, not after she'd gone through all those lonely years in the outside world…

_Not after she'd finally found a friend._

She lifted the core onto her lap, ignoring the stabbing pain in her arm, and leaned her head against the top of his casing. And, going against everything she'd determined when she first woke up in the relaxation chamber all those years ago, she spoke:

"Wheatley, _please_ …"

It was just a whisper, but its effect was immediate. She felt the core stir, and pulled him back as his optic turned a slightly brighter shade. Though his optic was still dull, he was staring up at her.

Chell let out a sigh, and pulled him closer to her again. "It's all right," she whispered, "We're getting out of here."

* * *

_Clank, clank, clank._

He could hear nothing but the rhythmic footfalls of metal boots against a metal catwalk. His vision was blurred, his body was sore, and he was tired… so tired.

He'd heard the lady speak, but it had felt like ages ago, and the sound had seemed far away. He thought he'd seen her face, but his vision had been fuzzy—his memory was fuzzy. He couldn't remember where they were—someplace dark. The facility? The chamber? The turret redemption line? He didn't know anymore.

His whole body ached, like he'd overworked every circuit in his system. Maybe he had. Just moving his optic took a tremendous amount of effort. He was tired. He was so tired…

His vision blurred again, and it seemed to change—what was _that_? _Turret parts… core parts… he was moving… it was so hot…_

"Wheatley."

Optic flickering and vision changing again, he tried to look upward, and finally saw the blurred face above him. The lady turned him around and pointed to something, and he could just barely make out something sticking out of the wall—a core receptacle?

"Can you summon the lift?"

The lift… summon it…? He didn't want to do that, he was so tired—but if the lady was asking him, maybe he had to. He knew he had to. Twitching, he tried to mimic a nod, but gave up partway through, his face turned downward.

_Snap, beep beep beep—clang._

The receptacle latched onto him, and he barely felt the pain as it grabbed his banged-up handle and connected to his sore back port. He _did_ feel the energy slowly seeping into him from the connection, but he was still so tired…

Oh, hadn't the lady wanted him to summon the lift…? Right, he had to do that… She was probably standing right in front of him, but he was too tired to even feel embarrassed at her watching him. Turning in his casing, he sluggishly began to enter the command.

_Beep… beep… beep…_

His vision was blurring.

_Beep… beep…_

He was tired.

_Beep…_

And he hardly noticed as the receptacle turned, pulling him away from the lady and into the darkness beyond.

* * *

" _NO_!"

Chell was too panicked to realize she had justraised her voice in the place where she had never dared before speak. She pounded her fists against the wall, ignoring the burning in her right palm and the pain shooting up her left arm. She stared at the blank wall where the core receptacle had been moments before, and finally pulled her leg back, kicking at the panel with all her might. It did not budge.

Soon she was on her knees, trying to work her fingers into the tiny crack between the panels, trying to pry it open and wishing desperately that she had brought a crowbar. She gritted her teeth, eyes narrowing as she gave a forceful tug, but only succeeded in hurting her fingertips. Shaking the pain out of her hands, she reached for the panel again for another try, but stopped.

She could hear something behind the wall—an odd whirring sound, accompanied by a hum. Pressing her ear against the wall, she listened more intently.

"Wheatley…?"

* * *

" _Wake up."_

_He opened his optic, finding himself on the redemption line. But rather than seeing nothing but the conveyor belt below him and the turret beside him, he saw something else—a light somewhere up ahead._

_Soon he realized he'd been leaning against the turret's side the whole time, and he pulled away, shaking himself. "Wuh… what's goin' on…?" He blinked at hearing his slurred voice; even here, he felt tired._

" _We are approaching the end of the path." The turret was staring straight ahead._

_He followed her gaze, noting the steadily growing light. "Oh…" He blinked dully. "N-near the end. That'll be nice… to get out of this torment, and all. B-but… where's this even lead to?"_

_The turret continued to stare unblinkingly ahead. "There are three places afterward. Three places—two of them seem much the same, but there is a difference."_

" _Y-you… didn't you say that before?"_

" _The first is eternal, the second temporal. The second must be crossed in order to reach the third." She turned her optic on him again, and he was too tired to look away from the blinding light. "You have avoided the first."_

" _Right… the first… So that means I'm—I'm on the second, heading toward the third… Still d-don't know what it all means, b-but all right." Not that he cared. He was so tired… Did his sleep mode work here? Maybe it did—maybe he could use that, and just sleep for a while. He was so tired, so…_

_The unmistakable sound of mechanical arms whirred around him._

That _caught his attention._

_He hardly had time to cry out before they grabbed at him, some of them forcing him to keep still, some of them tugging at his casing—_

" _NO, NO,_ STOP _!" Wheatley cried, trying to pull himself free of the arms, but they only clung tighter. The turret was still beside him, her optic focused on him. "I-I thought I was_ done _with this!"_

" _You must endure."_

_Endure—like he hadn't been doing that this whole time, jumping from place to place, from the chamber, to the facility, to the outside, to the lady's house, to the redemption line, back and forth, and everything in-between, and the constant pain and confusion and fear and guilt and not being able to do a bloody thing—_

" _I'M BLOODY TIRED OF IT!"_

_He tried to struggle harder, but despite all this anger, he felt no strength in him. Finally he let himself go limp, twitching miserably. "L-let me go, please, j-just let me go…!"_

" _We are approaching the end of the path."_

" _I-I don't care… I just want to get out of here." He shut his optic, trying to ignore what the arms were doing to him. His mind wandered to the fragmented bits of memory from whatever had happened before—his joy and relief at discovering the lady had come back for him, the rush he'd felt finally getting back at GLaDOS, followed by the feeling of absolute unbearable exhaustion… and then the lady again, who was tired, who had been hurt, and who had been counting on him to get her out of there… just like she had before, when he'd been able to do it so easily, and now, when he felt like he could hardly move…_

" _Oh—if, if any of that was real, w-with her—with_ Chell _—I want… I want to be back there—I need to g-get her out… I need—"_

_There was suddenly a burst of electricity, bolting down his management rail and shooting through his body. He swore he could see the turret's optic flash behind him, and, despite the grip of the mechanical arms, he trembled from the sheer force of the power. It was not painful, but it was overwhelming, and he felt energetic and dazed all at once._

_Finally the charge stopped, and one by one the arms released their grip on him. He hung limply on the rail, processor reeling. His vision was blurring, but at the same time, he could see the light up ahead._

" _You are at the end of the path," he heard the turret whisper._

_The light overtook his vision._

" _That's all I can say."_

* * *

The panel turned.

_Beep, beep, beep-beep._

Chell could hear the quiet hum of the lift behind her, but did not turn around. She found herself staring wide-eyed at what the receptacle spat out as the object rolled to her feet. Almost in a daze, she stooped down, scooping up the core and staring at it in wonder.

A familiar light caught her eye, and her head whipped upward in time to see the receptacle turned slightly—a red beam was poking out from between the receptacle and the adjacent panel. Her initial reaction was to stumble backward, but the light only moved harmlessly between her and the core she held.

"Hello, friend."

The voice was a friendly whisper, and before Chell could respond, the receptacle turned back, and the panel shut.

* * *

The light had been so bright, he couldn't see anything for some time. Maybe he had gone blind—had the charge caused his optic to shatter? Had one of those mechanical arms broken his optic? Or maybe…

No. No, he couldn't be—no, not after all that he'd gone through, he'd tried so hard to get back there, to get the lady back to the surface—no, he couldn't…!

He tried to turn, and shuddered when he felt his innards grind. No, you didn't feel pain after you died, did you?

He moved again, this time more carefully. He could turn a little in his casing, as much as he could without hurting himself, and tried waving his handle. That seemed to move all right, but—but there was something different, and…

Eye widening, he blinked several times, trying to adjust his optic, and finally his vision started to clear. It was still so bright, and it was hard to see, but he was able to notice the difference right away:

His lower handle was back.

_So_ that's _what you were doing…!_ he thought, almost laughing from the sheer joy of it. But there was something else—the turret, she'd said that he was… that he was at the end of the path. That he'd reached the "third place…" But what _was_ it?

He looked around as his optic continued to focus. The sky was clear for once, and the sunlight bounced off of the snow that covered the ground. But he wasn't sitting on the ground—he was being carried.

He looked up, and saw Chell's smile.

And Wheatley knew he was there.


End file.
